Maîtrise
by hellsdescent
Summary: **Sequel to Raison D'etre and Coup D'etat** Story takes place immediately after the second story's end, following a devastating death and Dean's return to the mortal world.
1. The Road So Far

_Let me tell you a story._

This story is the truth.

Long ago, there was chaos in the mortal realm that you know. The humans that God had created were rampant and wild, without leadership, without order and without law. Despite the beliefs of prophets from old who came down and spoke the word of God, there was very little improvement. Some believed as they should have, that there was a God, that there was a devil and there was a Hell and Heaven and that they would all have a place in the afterlife if they followed the teachings of God in their mortal life.

Eventually God commanded his highest ranking angel, Michael, to create a Scripture that would bring balance upon the world. The Scripture embodied Law through Michael's essence.

But it was stolen from Heaven not to long after by the Rebellious One, Lucifer. Through his essence, the Scripture was jaded and became sentient. The being that the Scripture created was called Dominion and Dominion embodied all.

"Traveler of the free world,

Speak onto me the words of this Scripture and you shall witness.

Speak onto me the word of Heaven and Hell and I will restore peace.

Speak unto me the word of Man and I will bring balance.

For I am all.

I am Law and I am Havoc.

I am Compassion and I am Retribution.

I am Memory and I am Despair.

I am Dominion.

I am All."

Enraged by the betrayal and his Fall from times past, Lucifer used Dominion's power to curse Michael with mortality and forced him to live among mankind as one of them. Lucifer would later hide the Scripture on the mortal plane where it was found by a human and auctioned off as an artifact from times past. Well, he wasn't wrong, at least. The human was unaware of it's true nature at that time.

Before Dominion parted ways with Lucifer, he left with a warning. He spoke of a being of unassuming porportion that would bring doom to Heaven and Hell. Fearing the worst, Lucifer assumed this being would be born of Michael and he stole the child that Michael brought into the world after killing both Michael and the mother that bore the child.

Rather than killing the boy, Lucifer raised this boy as his own, and when he was old enough, he tainted the boy to become one of his own, a demon. The boy would later become King of Hell. The boy was named Dean.

After Lucifer's death, Dean would later find out that the Scripture was hidden on Earth from the words of a captured angel. He learned that Heaven planned on stealing it back and would send a soldier to retrieve it. This soldier was Castiel.

On the eve of the infiltration, Castiel and Dean met for the first time, and upon discovering the Scripture together in the lower levels of the humans mansion, Dominion came before them in the form of a young boy. Smugly, the boy told them that they would know no other fate than death. He pulled memories through time and forced the angel and the demon to see their fates. Enraged by this, the demon plunged his sword into the heart of the Scripture. It was his original intention to destroy it.

But the Scripture was not easily destroyed. Dominion instead broke and it's pieces fragmented into the beings closest to it. Dean became Memory and Law. Castiel embodied Retribution and Compassion and the final two fragments, Havoc and Despair was found in the Fallen Angel, Dante Shadowalker.

Dean would use the control he had over Memory to remove all memories of himself from Castiel and fled back to his underworld kingdom..Dante Shadowalker was overwhelmed by the presence of Havoc and Despair and attempted to plead with the King to aid him...but Dean instead banished Shadowalker into the ninth circle of Hell.

He would later return to find Lucifer's essence and power stored inside of a young boy by the name of Sam where he encountered Castiel once more, with the latter not remembering anything about him. The fragments within remained consistently dormant for most of their time together. Lucifer would later rise again...but his time was shortlived as Dean threw him into the deepest circle of Hell, Treachery, the same place where he had banished Dante in times past.

Dante escaped Treachery prior to the King's arrival and he swore vengeance. Dean spent the next ten years inside of Treachery, locked with no escape while his demon, a human Dean killed on accident was resurrected in his image, tried to keep everything under control in his absence. Dante concocted a plan to "rescue" Dean by imploring Castiel, who had fallen in love with Dean in their time together, to help him. Castiel agreed and as a result, slowly fell into a dark embrace which tainted his celestial presence.

Midst the journey through the nine circles, Dante managed to suppress Compassion inside Castiel and made the angel a shell of his former self...He told Castiel that the final test would entail Castiel would have to kill someone he loved in order to pass the final lock through Treachery. Castiel ruthlessly murdered Sam, the former vessel who had grown close to him and changed him into a demon, bringing him down with him into the depths of Hell to find Dean, taking his old friend, Balthazar and Dean's demon creation, Carmen, along with them.

Michael was later found in Treachery alongside Lucifer and Dean. Dante had no qualms in saying that a death in Treachery was not the same as a simple death. A soul would be destroyed here permanently and it was this that he planned for both Castiel and Dean. Dante was aware of his own true nature in being Havoc and Despair and his belief was that if he killed the other two fragment vessels, he would become Dominion.

His plan proved to be unsuccessful, but he managed to draw the mortality from Michael and force it upon Sam, Balthazar and Dean. Michael returned to full power and he managed to guide Dean and Sam out of Treachery where he used Dean's power over Memory to erase memories of Hell and Dean's time as a demon, implementing false memories of a life with Sam and himself as his two sons.

Castiel was forced to work with Dante Shadowalker to get out of Treachery, seeing that Dante was the only one who had escaped before. He agreed on the term that Castiel, Balthazar and Carmen would owe him a favor and were obligated to do it in the future no matter what. Castiel ended up betraying Dante once the latter managed to open the portal out of Treachery and bound him to the Queen's throne where he became powerless unless invoked.

However, the mortality cursed placed upon Dean, Balthazar and Sam held a stipulation. It would break if the human took the life of a mortal being. An order of demons under the banner name "Tarana"(Light Bringer) searched for their lost king...and after a long search, they found him in Chicago living under the guise of the demon hunter family "Winchester". In place of Dean, Carmen became Queen of Hell, though she exercised no control over the Order of Tarana.

A human, Lisa Braeden, that Dean had wronged in the past managed to find Dean and attempted to kill him, only to lose her life, but not before she killed Sam right before Dean's eyes. The trauma of losing his brother caused a fatal fracture in the demon's psyche...at the same time, the activation sites that the Order of Tarana placed were surging with power. The final site activated when Carmen was killed by the new leader in Heaven, Metatron. Her blood spilled was the blood of Dean himself.

The trigger of the focus site caused all of Dean's memories as a demon to return to him as Dean had a very strong bond with Carmen during his time as a demon and shared the same mind with her. Overwhelmed by his old memories, he collapsed...but Metatron sent a messenger to kill Dean, having the idea to destroy all of Dominion's fragments. She sent Zachariah and the latter did attempt to murder Dean, however he was not successful as the act of killing Lisa had triggered the transition in Dean back to a demon, reinstating the former taint on his soul.

Dean ordered Balthazar, the very human Balthazar, to escort Sam's body away to safety with his former lover, Jessica Moore, before leaving, he managed to steal Zachariah's Grace and force it into the former angel, restoring him to full power as a celestial being.

In order to save Dean, Castiel worked with Dante and invoked him, removing the bind he had around him to combine their efforts against the common enemy...However, he was too late in his efforts.

And now we stand...with Michael captured by Metatron, with the dead Queen, Carmen... and Balthazar rushing away from the city that would soon be in flames.


	2. Dark Embrace

Castiel's arms wound tight around Dean almost as though he couldn't believe he was real. There was so much heat inside of the body he held and he felt it reflect in the touch. That was the solidifying evidence, if nothing else, that what Castiel had in his arms was a demon and no longer human. It brought him pain to know that. He was just now accepting that his time with Dean would be short, to say the least, limited to his own mortal lifespan...but now he was back to his demonic state. Maybe he should have been happy, knowing that Dean would once again be able to spend 'forever' with him.

He tried to stave off any ominous thoughts, and hold onto Dean for as long as he could. Castiel had the strangest sense that he would disappear.

"Dean," He finally spoke, pulling away. The reality of what was happening around him seemed to come. There was fire everywhere when he entered and now the fire had died. And it was almost like those flames were made of some kind of ghost spell...because nothing, none of his possessions seemed to be blackened or had any evidence of harm.

A curious spell...and not one he thought Dean capable of.

The lack of fire made it easier to take in the loft as a whole. There was a body on his crashed coffee table of a young girl that Castiel did not recognize. Her neck was twisted at a horrible angle but there was no blood from any gaping wound that he could detect. Blood splat from something else, and yet there was a puddle near the two of them that evidenced someone had died or at least been injured. There was blood on Dean's clothes too, some his own...some someone else's.

Dean's eyes focused upon him and he saw the familiar green there. All the right features. When Dean had been human, he retained a more youthful appearance, more human and less like a demon. Those green eyes were not so bright like they had been as a demon where they brimmed with life and Will power. And now they were bright yet again just as Castiel remembered.

But there was something very wrong as he looked at Dean. Perhaps it was just because it was such a contrast to how he looked before Castiel looked. That was natural...but he had never before noticed such a strange tracery of black veins reaching up his face. As Castiel watched, they only seemed to expand, branching off and creating more across his right cheek, deepening the scar Castiel became familiar with from a battle of long past. He was taller than Castiel as a demon and he retained that height too here...He looked older, his face and body reflecting the actual age of the demon at over three thousand.

"Is everything all right?" The question came automatically. Those veins looked particularly painful. And it was simply instinct that made Castiel touch his cheek and try to absolve them with a healing spell. It could not heal dire injuries and perhaps if Castiel was no longer Fallen, it would have been much more effective. Still, it would have sufficed for this.

To his shock, however, he watched the blood vessels flash scarlet as though Castiel had burned him and Dean wince away from the touch automatically, turning his head and releasing Castiel of the embrace.

"I'm sorry," Castiel apologized as Dean turned his back on him. "Dean...I really am sorry. You know that, right? I didn't mean to go away. I wanted you to be safe...I did what I could tonight...and for what it's worth, I am sorry it came to this. I didn't want this for you. Not again... I didn't want you to...suffer."

The apology wasn't the greatest and Castiel knew it. He was never good at this and despite his time as a Fallen, he still hadn't completely mastered expressing emotion. As a general rule, it should have been easy for him whether he was Fallen or not considering the emotional scale of an angel far surpassed a human beings...and the only other species that could compete was the demons themselves. And yet after spending so long keeping emotion and feelings in check, it was still somewhat difficult.

Dean didn't answer him. He just kept looking at Castiel. What was wrong? He could _feel_ it. Dean was real and physical. He felt that. Felt the heat that came off his body, that expanded and created the fire from before. Yet those eyes looked at him in a way that felt different to him. It was not so unlike when he met Dean in Chicago when he was human and he did not feel a sliver of recognition for him. It was like Dean was looking past him.

How come his touch didn't heal him? They were tainted beings. It _should_ have worked, as a rule.

The dead girl must have been the girl Crowley mentioned. Well, not mentioned directly...but he did say that Dean would have to kill someone to trigger the transition back to becoming a demon...and that meant it was her.

"What happened here?"Castiel asked, looking down at the body of Lisa Braeden then back up at Dean.

"Nothing that wasn't coming...Angel," said Dean slowly in response.

"Something's wrong with you," said Castiel, and he walked around to meet Dean's gaze direct and nearly flinched at the look he received. Same as before, but still a shock, still different. He gestured to his face. "What is all this? What happened?"

"What do _you_ think happened?" The question was posed as though he was mildly curious of Castiel's opinion. Not as though he was daring Castiel's answer.

"I don't know," Castiel answered quietly. He made a brave move in coming forward and touching Dean's shoulder. "Tell me? Tell me what happened here, Dean. Tell me...what's going on."

"But you've seen it already," said Dean, and he shrugged off Castiel. Not unkindly, but quite dismissively as he turned from Castiel again. Was Castiel just imagining it or was something else speaking with Dean? It was his voice, yes. He could pinpoint it anywhere...but there was something else, like every word was spoken in unison with another.

And what a terrible voice that was. Deep and beastlike. It was subtle, and Castiel's enhanced hearing caught it.

"You want to know what happened. It's quite simple. I killed a girl..I killed a girl who involved herself too much in the affairs of beings beyond her comprehension. She paid the price of her stupidity. And now she's dead. That's what happened," said Dean as if it was the easiest task in the world. As if he wasn't human when he did it.

"Dean, you were human. Even if..," Castiel broke off. He tried again, with less means to offend in his tone. "Even if she...tried to hurt you. I know you. I know you wouldn't kill a girl like-"

"Like Carmen?" Dean interjected. "It seems you've grown attached to the lie Michael built, Angel. I killed as easily as I breathed...and I killed dear Lisa here with very...very little guilt, I can say. Very little burden is on my conscience for killing that one."

"It wasn't a lie, Dean. It was you," Castiel retorted, watching Dean smirk in response. "It was you. I know it as clear as day. I know you've done things in the past...but you felt regret for them, remorse. You spent...a great deal of time in Hell..You rebelled against your Father's orders and plans for you. I know you. You...were never..."

"Evil?" Dean finished for him, leaning towards Castiel. He was close enough that Castiel felt the heat come from his breath, hot as fire. "Evil is a point of view. One I'm not keen to attribute to myself."

"Why are you talking like this?" Castiel closed the distance between them in one step. "Why? Something happened to you during the transition. Tell me...What did you feel?"

Dean was looking away from him for a long time, seeing something else entirely. His face was pointed towards the window where the activation site continued to provide an orange light upon Dean. The longer it lingered the more Castiel realized orange was a strange color to call it...Gold almost...and he realized it was symbolic to what Dean represented in Dominion. Had Law been dormant inside of Dean this entire time? He was Memory, Castiel knew that. The way he had been speaking did not suggest that he did not remember who he was and who anyone was. Dean always had the voice of a ruler. His demons, the ones loyal to him...Lilith...Merrick...followed without question.

Dean looked on him at last and he saw that gold reflect inside his pupils as if it belonged there. Without much preamble, he took Castiel by the shoulder and pulled him close, Dean's lips crushing his. The heat was everywhere. Having been intimate with Dean both when he was human and demon, this should have been something he was used to. More then what he was used to. He could have fought him off, pushed him because it all felt so wrong to him. Foreign almost. Dean's hands were forming an unfamiliar path up his back where he fisted a handful of Castiel's jacket and pulled him closer.

"Alive...I never felt so alive in my life," said Dean when he pulled away for breath, panting with each heated breath exchanged between them. "Come with me, Angel...I want to show you something."

"What?" Castiel asked, nearly biting Dean's lip in an effort to pull him back.

Something gleamed in Dean's eye. "What better way to celebrate the second coming than by taking a city for your own? My gift to you."

"What?" Castiel pulled away fully, but he didn't release Dean's shoulder. "What do you mean? Chicago? Dean...This is..No...You don't need to do this. We can leave this. All of it. We can leave it all behind and start fresh...Come with me...Just..."

"Run away?" Dean laughed emptily. "Please, Angel. There's_ no_ running anymore. I don't run. I was under the thumb of my father for too long under the belief that I was human. The recent...situation has opened my eyes. He was wrong and so was I. I was never meant to be more or less than what I was intended to be. You see now...It was always the intention to be exactly as you see it."

"That's not true, Dean," Castiel answered, shaking him. He worked to remain calm and controlled. "It's not true. We don't have to be barbaric. We don't have to be what they want us to be. We can walk off the chessboard."

"They? There is no 'they', Angel. This is what we were meant for...It was fate that led us to the Scripture that night...to make us meet," said Dean, cupping Castiel's cheek. "It's fate now that brings us here...The entire world could burn in ash around me, and I wouldn't care...That's freedom, Castiel...It's liberation. I wish you could feel what I feel right now."

"I don't envy your current thoughts," Castiel muttered.

"Don't you understand?" Dean asked, ducking low to catch Castiel's eyes. When he was human, Dean was noticeably shorter than Castiel. Now he had returned to the height Castiel knew from before. Castiel had to look up to fully address him. His voice was barely above a whisper, too close to Castiel because the words were only for him. "We don't have to run anymore, Castiel. We don't have to hide. We can stay right here."

He moved to the window and Castiel tightened his hold on Dean to the point of pain to stop him. "Dean...Just listen to me for five seconds. Listen to me. I know what happened...I know these activation sites are fueling your power...But something happened to you. I can feel it. Just tell me what's wrong? At least tell me...Where's Sam? He was here with you. I remember that. Is he all right?"

"Sam is safe. I can promise you that much. Come with me, Angel," Dean ignored his statement, his concern, yet again. Instead he answered Castiel with a small smile and tugged him towards the window again. "There's much to be done...and I need you by my side."

Castiel was eerily reminded of when Dean first turned human and he helped him tempt fate. He offered Dean to come with him then too. And the latter did, yielded to temptation and danger without really knowing what he was going into. Now here Castiel was in the same situation.

But perhaps they had always been at this standstill...and when Dean was human, that was the only exception. Perhaps Castiel was always standing face to face with the danger that was Dean and he was walking into the dangerous path each and every time. And he always seemed to jump in headfirst without second thoughts. The regret came later.

Why should today be any different? He took Dean's hand on his own without the latter offering it up for him. His fingers closed tightly around Dean's as though in assurance of his support. Dean's answer was to grip him back, just as tight and pull him close. He crouched a little, dragging Castiel down with him as he prepared to make the Jump.

When Dean's feet left the ground, it was not so different from what Castiel remembered through flight, except that the plummet was much faster than the actual jump. Castiel's hand tightened around his waist on instinct. He knew he could save them if the need came. The flat surface of a tall building looked entirely too foreboding for Castiel who closed his eyes.

Dean hit the ground first, releasing Castiel and not too kindly either. Castiel stumbled, a little dizzy despite himself. But he watched as Dean approached the edge of the building, looking on at something below him. Castiel followed his gaze and stride, straightening up to come to Dean's side and see finally what he was seeing.

He should have expected what he saw below. Before coming up to the loft, he saw them coming. It was the Order of Tarana, the faction of demons that were created by Lucifer in Manhattan and were now inadvertendly sired to Dean now instead. It was they who wanted to raise Dean in this state...and it was they that followed him without question. They were Dean's army, despite being of the same exact bloodline themselves. It was simply the title that called to them...or perhaps they believed that Dean was the best leader for the crown. The Order certainly didn't obey Carmen Matthews, Dean's demon creation.

The Order of Tarana had gathered in the streets. There was not a space between them where they stood. Not a human being in sight. They had either all fled or been killed themselves. All Castiel could see was the dark brown, monk looking hoods of the Order of Tarana below as they all looked up at Dean with reverence.

And though Castiel was standing side by side with Dean, he only saw the side of Dean's cheek as he looked around the gathering of his own demons.

"Look at them...mindless dogs to the slaughter," said Dean quietly, only for Castiel to catch.

"They follow you, Dean. They're your army," said Castiel.

"Not the one I would have chosen," said Dean, crossing his arms. "But as you know, in chess, the pawns go first."

* * *

><p>Crowley and Dante remained below. They hadn't moved even though they were surrounded by the enemy. The Order of Tarana were demons that mindlessly followed Dean's orders by pain of death...and yet none of them dared to even look their way. It was like not one of them had a single independent thought. They drove the humans back into their homes as though they were a mob carrying stakes and clubs...and maybe that would have been better than the eerie chanting as they called for Tarana in each step.<p>

"Shouldn't we be going now?" Crowley asked as he was shoved rather rudely by a passing demon.

"They're not going to attack us...," Dante murmured. "If they wanted to, they would have done it already. Tainted spirits are tainted spirits. They probably detect that we're one of them. What's the point in attacking us?"

Just as he said it, all the way up where the Order of Tarana was looking, there stood Dean and his eyes zeroed in on Dante, singling him out with ease.

"Shadowalker," Dean growled under his breath.

At the same time, the surrounding demons turned towards Dante, spells at the ready.

"Look who's wrong," Crowley growled.

"Son of a bit-" Dante began before Dean himself shot down, absorbing the impact of the potential fall and landing before Dante. His own flame spell was curled in his hand, gold and strong.

"Ah, Dean...Pleasure to see you again. You're looking well," said Dante pleasantly, though his eyes fell on the black blood vessels running down Dean's cheek and throat on one side.

"Havoc," Dean spat the word as though it was profane.

"You know, Dean," Dante began conversationally. "I lied. You're not looking so well, are you? What is it? All that power from those activation sites across the land...Look at you...There's not a _drop_ of humanity left in you, is there? What happened, Your Majesty? Castiel is right there...What could _inspire_ such a decision?"

"Careful, Dante," Crowley pulled at Dante's shoulder, eyes on Dean.

Dean tilted his head in Crowley's direction, a slow smile beginning to spread.

"You think he scares me?" Dante laughed. "You don't scare me, Dean. Your word may make the world bend at the knee, but it won't work on me. Your orders don't fly. You know why? Because I'm _still _ Havoc. I'm still just another piece of Dominion. Just like you...and that power you're using is still borrowed. You're dabbling in something beyond your control and capacity. Just look at your face."

"Dante...He can lift the dimensional walls surrounding Hell with a snap," said Crowley sharply.

"Like that scares me either," said Dante, leaning forward in taunt. "Read my lips, Your Majesty. You. Don't. Frighten. Me."

A guttural sound left Dean, the beast speaking in unison with him was hardly tamed. "We'll see who laughs last when I carry your head with me around on a spike, Shadowalker."

He didn't throw the spell like Dante thought he would. He threw it to the ground where a vast bed of fire formed. Dante and Crowley jumped back, but the fire was spreading like blood on a hard surface. Even the demons were moving away from it, but Dean was not. He was embracing the fire, letting it curl around him like a second skin. It was hotter than anything in existence, and yet Dante recognized it well. He spent enough time in the deepest, darkest circle of Hell to know that this was hell fire, and it could not be easily quelled.

Without much thought to it, Dante grabbed a handful of Crowley's jacket and pulled him close, extending his wings and taking flight. The fire seemed to follow him, curling as though physically solid to grab his ankle. But Dante broke free of that hold, sending down a wave of black smoke down below, which did almost absolutely nothing but free the grip Dean's power had on him.

Dante saw Castiel below when he was high enough. On a building that shook and quaked underneath him, its patrons screaming and crying in fear inside. The fire was spreading faster than ever, overtaking the Order of Tarana, consuming them harmlessly.

"Castiel, move! We have to get out of here, right now!" Dante called down to him.

"I'm not leaving without Dean!" Castiel shouted back.

Dante glanced down where he had just been, finding no sign and no signal that indicated Dean was down there at all anymore. No, now he felt Dean everywhere. It was like watching a puzzle board have all of it's spaces and crevices filled by fire below him. And it wouldn't be long before the entire city was taken.

"He's the eye of the storm, Castiel! Come on!" Dante called.

Why, was the most imperative question that Castiel could have asked. Since when did Dante Shadowalker care if he lived or died or burned alive? He had done his best to dispense of both of them in the past.

In that moment, the silence between them, Castiel simply looked at Dante and he could see the acceptance of his decision. It did not weigh heavy on Dante's conscience, but there was pity, surely. In fact, he even smiled...somewhat.

Then Dante took off, flying towards the sky with Crowley locked to his body in a tight grip just as the city exploded in flames. Dante's wings extended and his speed was like lightning, but even then, he saw the sky open up, turn a deep gold and red just as fiery rock began to cascade from it. Meteors. Did anyone order extra meteors with this apocalypse? Wasn't on the menu when he looked.

Dante dodged and weaved, Crowley tugging him close until he felt a singe across his right wing that was painful enough to make him buckle. Immediately, Dante's speed began to slow quite a bit and he felt himself start to plummet. It was not a painless fall. His grip on Crowley began to loosen despite himself and as they moved through through the crumbling rock, he made straight for a forest below far beyond the city limits. Indeed when the apparent danger was no longer meteors from "space", it was the tall trees that the two of them tumbled through.

Crowley rolled away, hitting a tree so hard with his back that it trembled, dropping a few pinecones on his head. He rubbed the spot on his forehead where dual red marks were starting to appear.

"You know what? I gotta say, Dante...Not my best landing," said Crowley, struggling to his feet. Now, if he was human, he might have broken every bone in his body by now and could have sprawled. But the fiber inside him was much stronger than any human's, and it was fortunate. That still didn't mean that he didn't feel like he had just fell through a one hundred and fifty foot drop into a forest.

"You could use the weight loss," said Dante shrewdly, getting up himself and rubbing his back. Just as he managed to stand upright, the ground below them began to shake with a violent tremor and for a moment, Dante lost his balance and swayed just a bit. His wings extended to right himself and Crowley saw a trail of blood running down his right wing where a hole had become very prominent.

"What is this?" Crowley approached and ran his hand along the wing that seemed to tremble. Crowley would probably attribute it to his arm or his leg trembling under tremendous weight. It must have felt excruciating. The way it was understood by anyone who knew, was that wings were extremely sensitive limbs, and not exactly to be taken lightly.

Other than the shaking, Dante didn't show any outward pain, yet it must have hurt quite a bit.

Dante pulled his wings back to rest on his back. "Nothing. Don't concern yourself."

Crowley's hand remained hovering. "Does it hurt?"

"It's irritating," said Dante shortly.

"Then heal it," Crowley answered pointedly. "We don't have time for this. This area's about to be just as bad as Chicago. We need to keep moving."

"We're out of range for another attack. He doesn't have that much juice," said Dante absently. "Trust me, he may be Law...but this power he's using can be burnt out...It's only a matter of time."

"He set a city on fire, Dante," Crowley pointed out.

"Impressive display," Dante swiped at his own chest to clear it off excess leaves and some dirt from the crash. He peered up at Crowley. "But that's all it was. He's _not_ Dominion. Not yet."

Crowley just stared at him. "Why do I get the feeling you're not as..._concerned..._with the situation as I think you should be?"

"I'm not concerned, so you shouldn't be concerned," said Dante simply.

"Why is your wound not healing?" Crowley countered. "You should have enough power to heal it."

"Crowley, I'm not going to-"

"Answer me," Crowley snapped.

"It's not-"

"Answer,"

Dante sighed, a long and exaggerated sigh and attempted again under Crowley's stony look. "It's not healing...immediately. Because it's an injury from Law okay. He and I...These wounds don't simply evaporate. He was made to destroy me. Naturally then, every attack he utilizes against me is meant to be permanent."

"What are you saying? You can't fly?" Crowley asked.

"I can fly," said Dante irritably. "You want to stand around talking about my wings all day? Or do you want to find something more productive to do like not make a residency out of the woods?"

"Dante-" Crowley began, but then the earth shook again, and it was more than a tremor this time. The trees were shaking too, down to the roots where the branches began to creak dangerously as they swayed in their direction. There was unmistakable sound of a branch beginning to break and Crowley's head snapped up above them.

Almost lazily, Crowley caught Dante's gaze. "Doesn't have that much juice, huh?"

"You know what? I don't want to hear it," said Dante. He huffed loudly and all but tackled Crowley, at the same time, extending his wings for another flight. It was just in time as well. The trees above parted to reveal the same flaming sky that was witnessed inside the city. And the fiery branches were raining down. Dante pulled Crowley away from the heavy branch just in time and had them roll into the ground.

"We have to go," said Crowley underneath Dante.

"This is just an after effect," said Dante, and he eyed Crowley's skeptical. "For someone sharing my mind, I really need you to be more supportive."

"I-" Crowley began.

"Besides this is nothing," Dante continued. "This is nothing to what's happening in the city right now."

* * *

><p>Balthazar always prided himself on his speed. So he didn't disappoint now. The moment Dean implanted Zachariah's stolen Grace inside of him, he felt a thrilling rush. It was such a relief to be flying with two wings again. Of course he knew his purpose. He knew the weight of the ones he was carrying with him. But from one second in Chicago to the next, they wouldn't remember anything in between. While Balthazar felt like an entire day passed in between.<p>

He took them to the safest place he knew. And it was safe...because in a way, it was where it started. It was the cabin where Castiel and he retreated before when Lucifer rose. A small retreat near a small streaming lake and waterfall with two floors and fully furnished. Balthazar was surprised it was still standing...and yet as he landed Sam and Jessica there, he realized very quickly the beauty of the situation. This was the escape they needed to be away from the chaos that was raging elsewhere. It was easy, here, to pretend like it wasn't happening.

Jessica was disorientated but when Balthazar laid down Sam's body, she nearly collapsed on him. She took out the same exact vial that Dean gave her with brightly swirling liquid. She hadn't even taken in the surroundings. She didn't care. Now that they had stopped, now that they were out of harm's way...Only one thing really mattered to her. "This...This is going to save him, right?"

Balthazar looked at her outstretched hand and wrapped his fingers around it, pulling her up slightly so he could see. "Yes. This is Angelic Grace...It's an automatic healing substance. If you give it to him-"

But that was enough for Jess apparently, she wrenched her hand away and pulled off the top.

Balthazar took her wrist. "Jessica Moore, are you sure? There is no spell on this earth that I know that can ease his mind of all of what he went through. I'm not Memory...and I'm not Michael. I don't know the spell to save him from what he knows."

"I don't care," said Jess, holding the vial eye level. "If it can save him...and not bring him back...as one of you...then I don't care. He won't right? He won't come back as...like...Like Dean was."

Obviously Jessica was shaken by what little she could see of Dean. Of that kiss and the deal she made. If she didn't believe in monsters and magic before, she was a believer now.

"No, he'll be human. Grace is purifying," Balthazar confirmed. "Even if he could, it would purify the soul before it returned to the body...He'd be human, and there would be a...'Dispel' on him. It would cleanse any other spell that was on him previously. Including the spell that Michael used to block his memory. He would remember everything."

"Then why are you telling me there's no way to take his memory away. Of course I want that," said Jessica, and she began to tip Sam's head back to take in the vial.

"Trust me, I know...Sam's head has been tampered with enough and no one...Not even the most vile creature should go through what he should have but-"

"There is no but," said Jessica impatiently. "I want Sam back...It's as simple as that. I want him to remember me."

She tipped the vial over and the bright contents emptied itself into Sam's unmoving body. The two of them were engulfed in white for the longest time that would have been blinding. Sam was completely out of sight for a few seconds before the light receded back to the source.

Sam woke up with a jerk, inhaling a lungful of air.

"Sam? Sammy?" Jessica shook him, grabbing his shoulders and pulling him close to her chest where she clung to him until her arms hurt.

"Jess...," Sam breathed, looking at her through his peripheral. He hugged her back but his hold was noticeably trembly. He opened his eyes and looked at Balthazar over her shoulder. "Balthazar..."

Sam took in his appearance and saw the armor plating and the wings that he could see physical and real. Not at all how Sam remembered him when he was under Michael's memory manipulation spell that made him think he was his human son. No, he probably remembered Balthazar as something else entirely. Castiel's drunk roommate.

"It's good to see you, Sam," said Bathazar, kneeling down in front of him and placing his hand on his knee. "Are you feeling all right?"

"What happened?" Sam asked, touching his forehead. " I remember being in your apartment...and...there was a girl. She was going to kill us all."

"Lisa," Jess admitted reluctantly. "Do you remember anything else?"

"She was going to kill Dean," said Sam slowly. The name, for some reason, made his lip twitch. Balthazar wondered if he remembered what happened to Dean...but not possibly...he was...dead...when that happened.

"But she killed you instead. You got in the way," said Balthazar. Jess shot him a startled, reproachful look as if in warning. "It's the truth, Sam. No more lies. You died just now. We brought you back."

"You did...what?! Where's Dean?" Sam asked, struggling to sit up and wincing as he did.

Jessica hastily pushed him down. "Sam, don't. You'll hurt yourself."

"Where is he? Is he all right?" Sam looked between the two of them. "Tell me. Where's Cas?"

Balthazar decided on the point to not lie to him. "He's not here, Sam. He's back in Chicago. Both of them are...I think. I'm not sure about Castiel...if he made it back yet. But it wouldn't matter...Dean's not...the same," said Balthazar slowly. He amended himself when Sam opened his mouth to protest. "It's okay, Sam. He's...fixable. It's just not him right now."

"What do you mean, not him? Is he a demon again, what's going on? Is he hurt?" Sam asked, this time pushing Jessica's hand down when he tried to sit up.

"Yes and no. Yes...He's a demon again. You're not. Dean brought you back with some angelic grace..Dean himself was not so lucky. He killed the girl...It must have triggered something. The Order of Tarana was anticipating that, it seems...Now he's powered up on all the activation sites across the country that were placed by them...It's too dangerous to go back to Chicago right now," said Balthazar in one breath.

"But we have to," Sam persisted. "We have to. Balthazar, please. Take me back. Let me talk to him. Let me see him. He's my bro-"

"He's not your brother," said Balthazar sharply. "And be grateful for that. That was a lie. It was all a lie. He's not your brother and you have no obligation to go back to him."

"But Dad would-" Sam broke off when realization hit him. "Michael...it was Michael. I remember...John. Michael. Same person, right."

"Right. He put this spell on you. Put all these little memories inside of you and made you think they were real..Why, I'll never know...But like I said. Your mind is cleared of it all now...So you don't have to go back,"

"He may not be my brother," Sam conceded slowly. "But he's still...my friend. I went down to Hell for him, damn it. Maybe not...as willingly as I should have...but I did. I care about him. I know he cares about me too. He wouldn't have given me the Grace to save me, right?"

"Sam," Balthazar drew close and took his shoulder. His eyes were hard on him. Not nearly as deep and blue as Castiel's but he cut it close. " Listen to me. What I saw back there...was not Dean Winchester. Not the one you know, not the one you knew...You haven't seen anything like that before. It's not anything you can comprehend without looking at it first. And I've seen it before this night. I saw it in Hell when our legion breached the castle and he killed almost all of them. He was going to kill me too...That back there is the face of a true demon. There's no humanity left in him. Something happened to him..Your death, I wager..He sacrificed his humanity. It was the only way he could get a handle on the situation, on himself."

"But it's still Dean," said Sam earnestly, looking back at him with equal intensity. "It's still Dean...if you're right. If it was my...death. Then this is my fault. I have to go back."

"The angel is right, Sam," said Jessica. "It's not..him. I didn't even know him long enough but I could tell that what we saw wasn't human. We can't go back there, it's too dangerous."

"I can see you're hard to convince, Sam," said Balthazar, sighing. "Come here."

Sam stared as Balthazar stopped at the edge of the lake and Jessica helped Sam crawl over to the bank where Balthazar halted. He held a hand over the stream, clear water passing through unchanged below him. Very slowly, the water stopped and the lake stilled altogether. Not a single ripple through it or any evidence that there had been running water a moment before.

"Show me Dean Winchester," Balthazar commanded as a tiny sparkling white light left his palm and slowly broke the surface of the lake.

Now there was a ripple as the clear water shifted and showed what Balthazar already knew in perfect clarity. It was Dean standing atop the building he had been atop moments before when seeing Dante. Except this time, he was seemingly alone. His arms were crossed and there was flame shrouding the city around him, fanned by his power. Perhaps Balthazar was too used to what he already knew, so the shock of black veins on Dean's face made him internally shudder. On the outside, he merely clamped his mouth shut, trying to ignore the foreboding feeling he felt. He had seen this before...and the outcome of it wasn't pleasant.

And of course, there was no Gabriel this time to rescue them all and fix it. There was nothing. Where was Michael now, he wondered. Probably dead...After all, shouldn't the High Commander have interfered by now? Yet...in a way, this was all Michael's doing to begin with.

Dean looked so uncanny...Not dressed at all like a demon, wearing clothes that Balthazar remembered being a size or two too big for him. Now that plaid and jean ensemble seemed to fit perfectly, covered in blood. His own, Sam's and Lisa's...splashed across his face. He looked like a nightmare possessed.

And he knew the perception was shared by Jessica and Sam who looked on in horror.

He held onto the image for a moment before it disappeared and Sam and Jessica were looking at a stream that slowly returned to normal as the waterfall continued and Balthazar turned away.

"A true demon," said Sam slowly, looking down at his lap.

"I'm sorry," said Balthazar. "Taking you back now...it's dangerous. He saved you, you're right. And that might have been the last glimpse ever. But now...I don't know."

"Balthazar-"

"Sammy," Balthazar knelt down for a second time in front of him. "I'm on borrowed power myself, so I can't talk. This Grace is stolen...it won't replenish itself. But I can make you a promise, if you make me a promise. Promise me that you'll stay here. In this place. It's safe. It's hidden...No one will come looking for you. Stay with Jessica...Live your life...and I promise I will do everything in my power to save Dean. I promise that."

"But-"

"Promise me, Sam. And trust in me...If I fail...," Balthazar reached behind him, flexing his left wing and plucking off a single white feather. "This feather fade and burn if I'm in pain or hurt. My mission will have failed. Keep it with you at all times, and if ever the need comes, pray for me, and I will come back to you. No matter where I am. If you feel it begin to fade...the protection spell I'm going to place over this cabin will fade as well. I'm telling you this because that's how resolved I am...I'm willing to take the chance of my death. I will save him. I will save Castiel. If it takes my life."

"Balthazar...I can't let you do this alone," said Sam quietly.

Balthazar squeezed his shoulder. "You have so much going for you, Sam. None of the rest of us do. We all have...immortality and wars and battle to look forward to. You have your girlfriend...You have so much potential. It's time to let go of the life you've lived through. Your mind has been screwed with so much since this whole thing started and it's time...It's time we make it right. Promise me."

Sam took a long moment, looking at Balthazar then at Jess for a long moment who gave him an encouraging nod. "I promise."


	3. White House

Castiel's approach to Dean was not silent or subtle. He was a complete manifestation of the fires that plagued Chicago. As soon as Dean reappeared on top of the building, the Order of Tarana demons that were stationed below began to swarm the sky like a massive black cloud. All while Dean watched below, keeping his place on the building. The closer Castiel got to Dean, the more foreign that presence felt to him. That was all types of wrong. Dean should have never felt foreign to Castiel. For all the time Castiel knew him. It was Dean that Castiel was most familiar with.

Or so he thought. Dean being Memory wasn't a perk that Castiel enjoyed. It made his mind full of the past...the present and the future. After all, memories existed within the fabrication of time, it existed at all times. And it was for this that Dean had to have his memory suppressed as a human. The weight was too much. It was strange that...it seemed like the weight was too much again. And even though Dean was smiling...pleased by all this chaos...It almost wasn't him. This almost wasn't the Dean that Castiel knew.

He wasn't missing the human. He'd never say that. The human. The demon...even whatever Dean was now, they were all Dean Winchester to Castiel.

And yet the Dean that Castiel knew and remembered was arrogant, yes. He was haughty and he carried the weight of his crown with reluctance but with pride. Strange, no? But that's how he did it. He killed Carmen as he had brought up earlier. But that was accidental...and no, maybe you shouldn't have forgiven someone else for _killing_ another...That was rectified. Dean couldn't have predicted that Carmen would be brought back as a demon...but she was.

And now Dean had inherited the dead that Lucifer made from Manhattan against Chicago. And they were everywhere, screeching like the demons of the old kingdom with each pass. Strange how just the sound of their screams, triggered Castiel's worst instincts to kill and destroy. He could say he never felt that with Dean except during their first encounter...but right now...he felt like a celestial surrounded by a sea of demons.

Dean kept his back to him, almost dismissive in the act. The fire had not abated. He felt it everywhere, and even though from this high, from this distance, he could feel the death in the air. Dean was sparing no expense. He would leave Chicago a graveyard just as Lucifer left Manhattan.

"Dean...It's enough," Castiel's voice was quiet. Quiet as the wind before the oncoming storm. He didn't want to use his power here, but if he had to, he could call a storm to wash away all of it. It could save something. Anything.

"It's never enough," Dean replied, crossing his arms around himself tight. His head tilted in Castiel's direction and Castiel saw the trace of black blood vessels even more, lit by the fire.

"It's enough," said Castiel more firmly. "You've done enough. Let's go now."

Everything pointed to something happening to make Dean succumb to this state. He had seen demons of the old. Seen their grotesque faces as they attacked him, tried to kill him. He killed them all with ease and with much pride in the past. Yes, that was a long time ago now...since Castiel had Fallen. But he remembered it well. He remembered each and every face he had destroyed. It was easy enough to compare Dean to that. That Dean was starting to look like his subjects more and more. The only sign that he hadn't given himself completely to the demon was the fact that he still spoke. The other demons...the ones wrought from Hell, had very little speech to give.

"Not yet," said Dean firmly. He eyed something in the sky and with dread Castiel realized it was Dante and Crowley, still escaping and yet still visible to someone with enhanced sight like Dean. He followed them like a moth to the flame. Castiel noted the distraction and dread filled him to the core. He never liked Dante. Never really cared for him. Recently they had become reluctant allies...and Dante was still something of an enigma to Castiel. He had reason and purpose and an intent that Castiel couldn't fathom...He had done horrible things to them in Treachery and in hindsight, it was his actions that turned Dean, Balthazar and Sam mortal. But that didn't mean he wanted Dante dead. At least, not like this.

"Dean, wait!" Castiel called, and reflexively, almost, he reached for Dean. "Stop!"

But he barely made it, nearly stumbled when the sky turned gold for the briefest moment. Storm clouds began to appear and Castiel watched as chunks of flaming rock began their slow descent from the heavens. Impossible...Impossible that Dean could influence that much power. Meteors, manifested through pure Will alone. How could he do that? He was never this powerful before. Powerful to begin with, yes. And he was arrogant about it. But not to this degree. Never to this degree.

Michael hadn't been joking before all this happened...this was serious. Dean was drawing up all the raw power from every activation site across the land and using it now. No wonder his appearance was less than healthy. It was tearing him apart. But Castiel had a feeling something _else_ had already rooted there. Something else had started him on this dark trajectory.

A horrible scream left Dean's throat. And he heard that second voice, that horrible beast that spoke with his every word take over the human. It was no longer Dean's voice. It was not Dean at all.

He was still reaching for him, but something had frozen inside him while he watched the the city burn, watched the fire spread to every building and stretched out just enough to hear them screaming. He could feel it echo inside him, just as it must have echoed inside of Dean. A product of their bond now...the life debt he swore to Dean to protect his life at all costs. What was the use in protecting his life if it felt like Dean had not an ounce of life inside of him?

This was his doing. He had failed to protect Dean by simply staying in Chicago tonight. Staying close to him. He had realized the mistake too late...and now the entire world was paying the price for his mistake. He watched Dean. Watched as he reached out towards Dante's retreating figure and the spell he used to cast the falling meteors was aimed solely to destroy.

Castiel found he could move a moment later, and he nearly stumbled. The ground was shaking below him. Dean wasn't just going to kill Dante. He was breaking them down. Just as Michael had said. The walls, the Dimensional walls that kept every demon locked into each Circle of Hell was crumbling and dark portals appeared in the city streets. Beings of black smoke rose from the depths. They did not approach either of them, soaring towards the sky and then cascading in different directions, free of the chains that had held them for so long.

"You don't have to do this, Dean," said Castiel in a low voice, and yet he knew Dean could hear him, enhanced hearing or not. He was less than three feet away from Dean's back. "You don't have to."

"They killed Carmen," said Dean shortly, keeping his back to Castiel so that it was impossible to see his face.

"What?" Castiel backed up a step, shocked. "Who? Dante? That's...impossible. He was bound until I freed him. He couldn't have hurt her."

Dean didn't immediately answer, but he took a few steps closer until he was dangerously close to the edge of the building. "It wasn't Dante."

"I'm sorry, Dean. I'm so sorry," Castiel murmured. He felt the loss of Carmen weighing in like a ton of bricks. Carmen and he had never really gotten a long either. More so than he got along with Dante for sure. Even Dean didn't spend enough time with her. But she was so much like him. Indeed, being with her sometimes was like being with Dean. She had retained so much of his personality, so much of his essence.

Her death shouldn't have notified Dean...unless she died after or during his transition back. And it was perhaps this that triggered the change. Dean could not handle her death so he turned it off. His humanity. It was strange how a man could go from completely mortal to the extremity of a demon in the same night. And yet there must have been something more. Something that made him give in completely.

"I know I can never understand the loss of a child of my own make," Castiel conceded." The one time I could have...I was...not myself. I...don't know what to tell you." He paused for a long moment. " But you can't just go around killing people. You've spent your entire life trying to stray from Lucifer's influence...but now...This is just like Manhattan. You're acting just like him."

Abruptly Dean turned around, caught Castiel around the middle and pulled him close. "Is that so?"

His lips brushed against Castiel's neck and Castiel had half a mind to push him away. His body was familiar and foreign at the same time. The heat was too strong...And not here. Not here in a city where there was too much chaos in the air.

But Dean's grip was tight. Castiel could move if he wanted to. If he truly wanted to. Yes, Dean was powerful. Castiel was too. Dante was too. This power he called to him came from a different source and it was borrowed. It could have easily been Dante. It could have easily been Castiel. It was not...and Michael and him had discussed why. This was Dean's choice. His backup plan. He had refused to accept defeat even way back when. These activation sites were placed by him, after all.

And he wondered how long Dean could last under it...

The thought snaked inside Casitel's mind like a poison and almost on instinct, his arms wrapped around Dean in return. The demon rested his cheek on Castiel's shoulder, making it hard for Castiel to look at him. All he could do was look forward.

"You can hate me," Dean murmured, expelling a heated breath that Castiel felt seep into his jacket and shirt and touch skin. "You can...hate me with all the hate you have...angel."

Castiel's grip on Dean tightened and he closed his eyes.

"Just don't...leave me," Dean's voice climbed barely above a whisper but his grip was threatening to break bones now. If Castiel had been anything less than what he was, he might have been worried.

"I won't," said Castiel. His words coming with a seal of a promise. "Of course I won't. I'd never leave you, Dean...No matter what happens. I haven't come this far for nothing. I didn't make this path..."

"Then stay..Don't doubt," said Dean, and he pulled away, removing his hands from around Castiel just to take his face between them. "You swore your life to protect me. I don't want you to stay because of that. I want you to stay...because you want to be with me."

Castiel took a hold of Dean's wrists. "I would have it no other way."

* * *

><p><strong>Three Days Later<strong>

* * *

><p>It was not an easy day in the white house. For three days, there had been panic and crazy talk all over the country. Papers were being published with scandalous headlines that aliens were invading the country. Several referenced the attack on Manhattan over ten years ago that leveled the city. Chicago was no different to some people who had made the connections. It was definitely not a hard connection to make either. Except aliens...well, that was pushing it.<p>

Of course, that was better than the truth. Chicago was destroyed by a fire. That much was clear. When the helicopters and media reports came out, it was basically a cloud of smoke with a lot of charred bodies and ruin. What had caused such a thing? Days before the attack, there was several reports that something strange was occurring in Chicago. Several reports came from inside sources saying that eyewitness reports saw a bright orange light shooting towards the sky. Of course these sources were never specified and upon further investigation, there was no accountable proof.

President Maxwell was forced to address the nation as a whole earlier today to quell some of the more panicked queries that this was a terrorist attack. As far as the USA was concerned, there was not another country that had any viable reason to attack. Not to mention, with air and ground force defense, it was impossible that any sort of invasion should have been possible. They had radars that detected all air strike infiltration...Nothing crossed the ocean into the states that wasn't meant to.

That simply implied that the attack on Manhattan and Chicago...though far apart in the timeline, were done from the inside. Was it planned? Who knew. Maxwell would not give into the alien theory invasion. That was ridiculous.

He did not say this to the nation. He stood by the theories that this was an attack that slipped by their defense and that the US was simply blind to it. He reiterated that they were doing all they could to track down the perpetrator and that justice would be delivered. He had to emphasize heavily on how sorry he was for everyone's loss...and he was. It was truly a tragedy. So many lost. Millions of innocent people that were caught in the crossfire of something that no one could understand.

Maxwell was stressed inside the oval office, leaving it dark and gloomy. Security was heavy, as it had been for the last three days. National security had been insane and insisted that there be an armed guard outside with machine guns outside at all times. If that was the story for the country, that was the story for everyone. All the meetings they had had in the last few days and not one had come in sounding like it had made sense.

The president didn't know that someone was visiting tonight. Security was usually more lax at night during the hours where everyone was close to sleep. Not tonight. The guards outside merely switched shifts and another line of troop like guards were outside in the hallway. It was hard to sleep this way with the men making jokes and talking loud. This was their awake time, after all. Luckily, Maxwell's thoughts were otherwise occupied.

The woman was tall even with the black heels she chose to wear. Her black and white striped blazer and skirt ensemble gave her the appearance of professional, her shoes making a noise with each step. Her dark brown hair was pulled back in a tight bun and she wore square spectacles. She clutched a clipboard to her chest and moved with purpose. In her other hand, she carried with her a large black briefcase. It must not have been very heavy, or not containing much because there was a rocking sound as though the objects clattered around noisily inside.

She strode past the guards and the one standing right in front of the oval office got directly in her path.

"Can I help you?" He asked rather pointedly.

"I have a meeting with President Maxwell. It's urgent I speak with him," The woman replied coolly.

"I'm afraid that's not possible," The guard replied. "You understand, of course. With the recent attack. It's after hours. If you'd like to schedule an appointment, please refer to the front office for reception. President Maxwell is not taking any meetings until the situation is back under control. "

"The situation is beyond your control," The woman's voice grew cold. "It's always been out of your control. You're just only aware of that fact now."

"Pardon me?" The guard asked as if he wasn't sure he heard her right.

"I don't need an appointment to speak to anyone," She ducked her head a little and caught his eye. His pupils swirled into a bright blue the moment they locked eyes and he took a step back, dazed.

"You don't need an appointment," He muttered. "Please. Go on inside."

She raised herself up to full height. " Thank you. Very much."

The woman strode past him and entered the oval office. Maxwell looked up from his desk when she entered, staring in confusion. He was an old thing. Nearing his sixties and almost all his hair had turned white. Stress of the job..And yet in the last three years, he had proven he knew how to run a country. Except of course when cities randomly combusted for no explicable reason.

"Hello Mister President," The woman greeted. She took a look at the room as a whole and smiled slightly. "Colorful office...Kind of ominous in the nighttime, don't you think?"

"What? Who are you?" Maxwell asked, staring at her.

"Oh, where are my manners?" She strode over to his office and extended her hand after placing the briefcase on the chair in front of Maxwell's deks. "Tera Mont. It's a pleasure to meet you."

"Tara," He mispronounced, staring at her extended hand. "How did you get past my-"

"Armed Security can only get you so far. I can offer the best options for your security needs," said Tera. She pulled the briefcase up and pushed it towards him almost nonchalantly.

"I'm not interested," said Maxwell shortly and he reached for his phone to call for the secretary and escort.

"I wouldn't be so quick to dismiss, Mister President," said Tera calmly. "Your cities are burning while the perpetrator walks free. You need all the protection you can get. If you can just listen to me for a few moments..."

Maxwell sighed and sat back, glowering at her as he did. He pulled the suitcase towards himself and clicked open the locks on both side, opening the suitcase and staring at the contents. Inside was a pistol with an embedded angelic design of the famous Archangel Michael painting, a black plant that looked like it had begun to shrivel and dry and a set of three photographs with people Maxwell couldn't identify, all male.

"What is this?" He stared at the two items and then at her like she was insane. "A plant and a pistol? Is this a threat?"

"Heavens no, Mister President," Tera looked aghast. "Of course not. I would not threaten you. No, I mean to protect you. Let me explain. The pistol is a unique pistol. Inside are silver bullets that are laced with a poison known as Stigmatus Inferno. Stigma...I suppose, for short. That plant you see there, has been growing in many areas around the world. Common areas. It's not a rare plant...and it not poisonous for humans. But to others...Not so much."

"Others," Maxwell repeated, still gawking.

"Others...Mister President. You're not alone in this universe," said Tera. "Not even a little bit. The first step to understanding the threat you face is to broaden your mind just a little bit."

"Broaden my mind? To what?" Maxwell scoffed without humor. "To the possibility of aliens? Get out of my office, Ms. Mont."

"Not aliens, demons," said Tera promptly. "Aliens...Please. There's no such thing in the entire cosmos. Demons however...Well, you have an excess of those..._Most of which..._Ironically...are here in the United States. Do you happen to know why that is?"

"You're crazy," Maxwell answered, then he reached for the phone again. "I'm calling security. I want you out of my office right now. You have a five second headstart. I suggest you take it ."

He moved to press the button and then Tera's finger came down on the disconnect button colored red. "I _said_ a few moments of your time. You don't want to see me angry."

And for some reason as she said it, there was a distinct sound like thunder booming outside that made Maxwell flinch just a little under her gaze. Her eyes were an intense amber, a light shade of gold. And in the darkness of the office, they seemed to light. Such a presence she had. She was already tall, and yet she seemed to tower like a massive shadow.

"As I was saying," She said in lighter tones, removing her finger from the button and stepping to pace a line in front of him. "Demons. Demons all around. You don't strike me as a religious type, President Maxwell. But that's okay...Not many people are these days."

"You're insane," said Maxwell. "There's no such thing as demons."

"Demons exist all over the world, Mister President. They come in all shapes and sizes. Some big and ugly. Some scrawny and revolting. It doesn't matter what you believe. Demons are the manifestation of corrupted humanity and the darkness that roots from every living, breathing thing in this world. People seem to forget that even man is an animal. So these demons can look like you, talk like you. Walk around like you...They can slap on some fancy clothes and become President of a corrupt nation," Tera's lips twitched and her eyes gleamed.

Maxwell stared at her for a long moment, then slowly, he drew his gaze back down at what she had brought before him. He picked up the photographs. All three of these pictures contained a mugshot like picture of three different men. He could only see their head and shoulders, but they were all very young...and almost modelesque in appearance. One with light brown hair, another with buzz cut brown hair and finally one with jet black hair. Each was unique in appearance, but it was strange that they seemed...related somehow. Perhaps it was the same burning expression in each one.

"Who are these?" Maxwell asked after a moment. "Are these the 'demons' you keep going off on?"

"No, only one of them is a demon," said Tera. "The blonde. The other two are...not. That's a whole different explanation. Regardless. These are the ones you're looking for."

"These are the ones that destroyed Chicago," said Maxwell skeptically.

"One of them is. But it's imperative that you understand that these three men are an enormous threat to your existence, to your entire way of life. They don't belong in this world...and the three of them existing on the same surface level is beyond...catastrophic. They're extremely powerful," said Tera. "The blonde there...That's...Well, let's just call him Law. He can influence anyone..anyone, to do his bidding. That brown haired...Let's call him Havoc. He can turn anyone he comes across into a shadowcrawler. That's not a demon. It's a mindless servant that he can call upon to serve his will and inflict chaos. And that last one...Well, that's Retribution. He can control lightning. Make it storm anywhere. Make the lights go out and leave you in total darkness. Did I mention he uses it to attack people too? Go figure."

"These people are dangerous. You want to stop the threat that ran your city down to the ground, you start with these three. Proclaim martial law. Search everywhere. Kill them. I gave you the means to fight back...so use it,"

"You realize how insane all this sounds right?" Maxwell peered up at her after setting the photographs down. "You honestly believe this? That these three...guys are the ones behind the attack?"

"No, I know they are. One of them happens to be the King of Hell, Mister President. And he's very... _very_ angry. He's the one who did it. Launch your campaign as a terrorist attack if you have to, but do what you need to. Because they won't stop. They absolutely will not stop until all that you know is dead," said Tera.

"And how do you know all this? Where's your proof? You want me to launch a campaign to hunt these three men down...and you provide nothing to back up these claims...About demons...and guys having all these random powers that should not and probably _don't._..exist," Maxwell answered sourly.

"I have proof. I just don't think you're ready to understand that proof yet," said Tera quietly. "It's a long story...and most of which is beyond something you can understand. This has nothing to do with you or your country. This affects the entire planet. You have to trust my judgment in this manner."

"I have to trust you're crazy," Maxwell chuckled. "You are. You come here saying these stories..and you expect me to believe them. You expect me to believe that demons exist and that I should-"

"Mister President," Tera whipped around the desk in one movement, her hands locked on his armrests with her whole body leaning forward, inclined towards him, with their faces inches apart. "You must do what I tell you. Go live before your country, before the world and run these people to the ground. If you don't, the lives lost from here, the blood spilled, will be on your hands."

Maxwell stood up too and Tera stumbled back a step. "I think it's time you leave, Ms. Mont. I do not take kindly to threats. Even from a woman."

Her eyes gleamed slightly and she did not stop him when he touched the red button on his phone and picked it up to his ear. "Yes, Melissa? Can you please escort someone from my office? Yes. Yes, her name is Ms. Mont. Kindly take her back to her vehicle."

Maxwell hung up the phone and looked at her. "If you could take your...toys with you too. That would be great."

Tera looked at him for a long moment, simply measuring with a smooth expression. Then finally, her professionalism, or what was left of it, returned and she gave him a small smile, extending her hand. "I'm sorry you don't see things my way. Please. Keep the gifts, I've given you. They're harmless at least to you. I do hope you reconsider in the future."

"Uh huh," Maxwell was already seated back down and rummaging through his desk for something else. He took out a stack of papers and placed them flat on the surface. "I actually have more important matters to attend to then dealing with nonsense."

Funny how he didn't think that stack of papers was important before Tera walked in. She raised an eyebrow at him just as his secretary, a mousey woman with gray hair approached. Tera looked up at her but waved a dismissive hand.

"I don't need your help to find my way to the exit, thank you," said Tera before she could speak in that falsely polite voice. She pulled up the empty briefcase off the corner of Maxwell's desk, closed it and made for the door.

Tera wasn't wrong. It didn't take long for her to find the exit. The guards all looked on at her in curiosity and some with lewd appreciation. But she ignored all of it. Instead she made her way outside, heading into the darkness of the street where someone was waiting for her. He wore a grey hoodie and blue jeans with dark boots. In appearance, he looked like a regular old joe. With bright blue eyes and curly brown hair, parted to the side.

"Did they green light?" He asked when Tera approached.

"Ignorance is something too deep ingrained into the heart of man," said Tera, her tone a complete contrast to the way she spoke with President Maxwell. She immediately reached back to unpin her hair and let long hair fall around her shoulders and removed glasses that were proving to be more of a nuisance than an actual help. With her sight, she was more incline to focus upon the microscopic scratches on the lenses then actually see better through them.

"I'm sorry, General," said the other. "I know you were counting on this."

"It's no problem, Gadreel. Turning the humans against their oppressors was a long shot. I predicted he would be obstinate. It's good then that he stands as a decent testament to his kind. You would think after Manhattan, it would take anything...However, it looks like Manhattan and Chicago were too spread apart for these people to take notice of the connection," She looked over her shoulder at the large building as a whole. "He won't believe that the fires of hell can destroy him until Dean Winchester is at his doorstep."

"So are we moving to guard?" Gadreel asked, following her gaze to the White House.

"No," She answered. "Not right now. We have more important matters to attend to." She said it rather mockingly, like she was imitating the tone of Maxwell's last words to her. "Come on."

"Where are we going? General...It's not really safe in this realm. The Order of Tarana is actively hunting for our kind," said Gadreel.

"I am not afraid of them. Nor am I afraid of their leader," She answered. She turned her head away and in the same second, her blouse, skirt and blazer shifted, melted away with pure silver armor replacing itself on her body with blue trim hedging on the shoulders. She did not wear her galea, the helmet that covered most of her head except for the middle of her face, having no need for it for now. Her massive white wings extended and she pulled herself from the physical realm along with Gadreel rendering herself and him completely invisible.

"But I could be afraid for them," said Metatron, nodding towards the White House. " We're heading to Chicago."

"Is that...wise? The Order might be-"

"I told you, I'm not afraid of the Order of Tarana. I don't care who's there. There's something we need to recover," Metatron snapped rather coldly. "Let's move."


	4. Blackout

Chicago was under quarantine.

Well, that's what they called it. It looked like a storm had hit it. Buildings were toppled over, cars were upturned or piled up in random places. Bodies scattered everywhere, black and shriveled. The smoke from the fire that destroyed it seemed to have created a permanent black cloud over the city as a whole.

The U.S Military had sent in their troops wearing masks to escort the survivors, few as they were from the debris. Not like they had anything to say even when they could speak. What could they tell them except that one minute it was a normal night, and the next, everything was on fire and people were running from it.

There was an interesting trend to their stories, however. Several accounts stated that during the attack, several brown robed figures were marching through the streets as though it was a parade. But they stepped with purpose, all seeming to glide in a certain direction. None of the survivors bothered to follow them in the thick of the crowd either. But it sounded like this must have been the source of the attack. It was a pity no one saw who did it...The priority order was to find survivors, yes...but also to find any evidence leading to information on the person behind it.

Armed guards went through the streets in tanks and a regiment of troops. For two days since the attack, they marched. And yet..It was hard to find the source of something when whoever it had done this, had long since left more than likely.

Now, they were on lockdown. But that didn't stop the silver corvette from driving up the highway. There were two people inside when the Colonel came up to halt them from going any further.

The woman stepped out first wearing a black skirt and fine rimmed glasses. Her hair was pulled back and she had the look of someone who was all business and no play. The Colonel approached her first.

"I'm sorry, the city is under lockdown. Is there something I can help you with?"

Her eyes flicked over him and though tall, she was a head shorter than him. She reached up and pressed two fingers to his head. His eyes rolled to the back of his head and he keeled over, fast asleep. Her hand gently gestured to the gathered soldiers from the trucks behind him and the same spell mirrored through them. They all flattened, unconscious.

The other angel approached her and stood by her side. Gadreel. Again in the same civilian clothing as before to blend. But when he saw the work that Metatron had made of the soldiers, his garments shifted to blend into silver armor with a long red cape that masked his wings from physical sight, at least for the time being.

"What do you sense?" Metatron asked without looking at him.

Gadreel raised his head a little bit and sniffed a little. His expression was not entirely pleasant, as though what he smelled was disgusting. "Death. Decay. The stench of old power. It still lingers."

"That's what I feel as well," said Metatron, stepping forward. She didn't bother discarding of the disguise just yet.

"Is this wise?" Gadreel asked tentatively. "I told you the Order may still be in the area...Maybe we should-"

"They're not here," said Metatron shortly. "Their echo is here. But they are not. Be reasonable, Gadreel. There is an entire planet for demonkind to feast upon. They won't linger in one place."

"General, they are actively hunting our kind down. The dimensional walls are down...Every demon in Hell is free to walk the Earth. Demons have no other enemy besides celestial. We simply cannot just walk into a battle site and hope to survive the encounter," said Gadreel exasperatedly. "You are strong...but strong enough to take on an army..."

"I don't plan on taking on any army today, Gadreel. Calm yourself," said Metatron. She stepped forward and stretched out her senses. She felt what Gadreel felt. The echo of old power. It was still here like it had just been. But unlike him, this didn't deter her or fill her with any sort of apprehension. If the demons were going to attack, they would have attacked these military and with little regret. No, she could guess that the Order of Tarana...and the King had their own plans. Chicago was no longer a part of it. In fact, Chicago just happened to be part of the crossfire for what they were planning. Whatever they wanted to do, it wasn't going to be headquartered here.

In the midst of stretching out, Metatron's clothing vanished and the familiar armor reappeared. It was infused by Will and protected against most magical attacks. If there was going to be an attack today, she would at least go down without looking like a human. She did have some dignity after all.

She raised herself a few inches off the ground and took off. She could practically feel Gadreel's pointed sigh behind her. But her speed was almost completely unmatched. The soldiers below her would feel no more than brief shift in the wind to indicate her passing. She knew where she was heading. It was faint...almost dying. But she could feel it just enough. Metatron looked below her. She could see various holes in the ground like massive craters where giant black rock had fallen from the sky. There was also many smaller holes where dimensional walls had fallen. Seeing it was believing. This was it. This was what Lucifer had always wanted of the world...and what he always wanted his adopted son to carry out. And now the nightmare was real. So very real.

She stopped short of the ruined building, pulling her whole body from the physical realm and rendered herself invisible. She felt more than actually saw Gadreel come behind her. The building that Metatron had stopped short at was almost completely black from whatever the original color was. Which she guessed was grey, considering some of that was still chipping midst the black char.

Metatron stepped forward, extending her wings and scaling the building to the side until she reached one of the topmost floors. Metatron folded her wings inside and headed inside, pushing aside burnt debris and collapsed items around her. She was pretty sure this was the right loft. The angel paraphernalia was really telling. This was definitely the home of an angel. Not the way she would have decorated it if she was masquerading as a human...but to each his own.

Why Castiel did it and why he seemed to think Dean was worth it, was beyond her. Really, if it hadn't been for his involvement, this may not have happened. If Dean was simply left to stay in Treachery...

Enough. There was no time to put blame on something else. What was done, was done. She could pin it all back to when she first wrote the Scripture. If she hadn't wrote it. if Michael hadn't gone down there that night and gotten turned mortal by Dominion. If Dominion hadn't broken...A person could spend all night wallowing and wondering where it all went wrong. She wasn't about to let herself think on it.

There was ruined paintings everywhere, charred furniture and some collapse from the ceiling. The paintings all depicted great battles in Heaven that were handdrawn by man. One was of Dean himself, labeled in a more primitive state. This was handed down by angels...It was the angelic view of him for a long time, and despite his outward appearance, it actually wasn't far off. She eyed the long hair, the muscular body scarred with many slashmarks and the horns that protruded from his temples. Not a great likeness, but it was Heaven's view of him after all.

But she merely glanced over these paintings and depictions. She had a purpose in coming here...and it was imperative that she found what she was looking for. The signature she sensed before was faint and now she could feel it coming more pronounced. Gadreel shifted into the room and eyed it with disdain.

"Castiel's dwelling, I presume?" Gadreel wrinkled his nose. "This place is an unholy sanctuary. Whatever do you hope to find here?"

"Something I need to take responsibility for," said Metatron absently. "Or at least partial responsibility."

"What are you talking about?"

"It's hard to explain," said Metatron. Then she picked up a broken bust of a statue. It was Gabriel's face. Another physical depiction of the Archangel created by man. It was strangely accurate. The whimsical smile was the same, even the hair was. It caused her some pain to see it as Metatron would feel seeing any of her dead brethren. Gabriel did not deserve to die.

She held onto the bust when she saw something flicker on the ground in front of her. Her eyes immediately cast down. She set the bust down gently and reached forward, pulling the Scripture free. It looked much different than what she remembered. She had formed this Scripture with her very hands. It was her words that were displayed upon the surface. So strange to find it in this disheveled, ragged state. It looked more like a discarded piece of brown cloth then something that was of actual value at any point in time.

"What is that?" Gadreel asked, looking over. "Scrap paper?"

"This...my dear Gadreel, is the key," said Metatron slowly. Her eyes flashed over the surface of the paper. From where Gadreel was standing, it looked like nothing at all was on the front.

"The key to what?" said Gadreel impatiently.

"The war," Metatron answered him, then she looked up at him fully. "Fall back to the Heavenly Plane. We have what we came here for."

"Are you serious?" Gadreel said, outraged. He saw Metatron's eyebrows fly up and he amended his tone considerably in the next turn with more respect. "General. This entire realm is in danger. We can't just abandon it."

"We're not abandoning it. We would never abandon God's children, " said Metatron patiently. "We're saving this realm, I promise you. But it takes baby steps. Now, like I said. Fall back."

"General," said Gadreel with as much patience as he could muster. "General. The entire demonic population is about to subjugate the humans on this planet. If we don't act to stop them. If we don't stay here...We'll die along with them. The last time we sent troops to stand against a single demon, they all perished. We-"

"The last time an angel stood ground against Dominion, he was turned into a mortal through it's power and we lost Michael," said Metatron coldly. "You don't know what you're up against. I do. I've always known. I wrote the damn thing. I know exactly what it entails.""

"I _thought_ Dominion was broken," said Gadreel edgily. "You said he was."

"Dominion is broken, but the fragments need only to destroy one another for their power to return to the source. Then nothing will stop Dominion. Lucifer had him tied before, and he used Lucifer for his own aims. You can't imagine if one of those three beings managed to become the new power. It'd be the end," said Metatron.

"I'm sorry. I'm sure I'm _staring_ at the end in the face right now. There's a demon out there who's out for celestial blood. Demonic bonds are not a far stretch to understand, General. He _knows_ you killed his demon," said Gadreel, knowing very well that she would know who 'he' was in this equation._  
><em>

"No, he's not Dominion. He's a boy high on power," Metatron told him sharply. "And that _power_ will run out. He can have his fun for now. Because the moment I find the means to destroy Dominion completely...He will perish. Alongside the other two...and this Scripture...It has life left inside. It will show us. Trust me. Now, Gadreel."

She gave him a hard look, eyes blazing. "Acknowledge last directive. We're leaving."

* * *

><p><strong>Heaven<strong>

* * *

><p>Metatron's arrival in Heaven was timely. It was different for her every time. Angels didn't generate a heaven. They were probably the only beings on the celestial plain who couldn't do that. If someone put Heaven on a map and zoomed out, it would never be able to be seen in full. It was always growing, always expanding. The landscape was called Infinity. Each human soul generated it's own heaven, and you could see it as you passed. The humans did not fully acknowledge the angelic existence, content to live in complete bliss in whatever land they had created.<p>

The beings that _did_ acknowledge the arrival of the General was the actual angels. They emerged from all sides and followed her in her stride towards the mountainous region to the north. That was perhaps an angel's paradise. The high orange and tinted red mountains was where the Celestial Court resided. That was where most angels reported after a mission and before a mission. Metatron herself was part of the Celestial Court alongside Michael. There was high chairs reaching into the clouds which rendered the Archangels nearly invisible.

Of course the seats were empty now with most of the Archangels gone. Metatron dismissed all of the angels coming her way asking for orders. The order was given to fall back and she was going to abide by it. So far as she could see, that order had been obeyed and everyone was accounted for. But she wasn't really paying attention to that or caring much for it. What she was mostly concerned for was the Scripture in her hand.

She swept past the high chairs in the flat enclave on the mountain and instead approached a small building that resembled a gazebo adorned with multi-colored flowers. No one ever stood in this thing, because it was impossible. There was a set of stairs leading into the interior of the mountain that Metatron stepped down until the darkness covered her form.

There she found herself in a long hallway with several cells on side of her. Directly in the middle of the hallway, there was a large pedestal containing an enormous hourglass that was enchanted. Eternal sprinkles of gold sand was flowing inside of it. It was supposed to be a representation of time. The _only_ representation of it. Most of them were empty, held and reinforced by several colored magic barriers, erected to keep whatever was imprisoned inside based on their power level. The few that actually held occupancy had their prisoners for the most part sprawled on the ground facing away from the barrier. Fallen mostly. Captured from Lucifer...and several of these were Raphael's old supporters.

But the last cell to the right was what captured Metatron's interest. She approached iron bars and stood off to the side, eyeing the form inside. It was not so unlike prison cells on the mortal realm. There was three walls, a set of bars keeping the occupant from leaving at will, except for the golden barrier that seemed to shimmer at every five second pass.

"Hello Michael," said Metatron after a moment.

Michael had his body hunched forward, elbows on his knees, his fingers interlocked. He was still dressed in his civilian clothing. The barrier prevented him from calling his weapon or his armor to him. Metatron knew that if he was able to call on these, then the barrier would be gone no problem,

"It's been a while," said Metatron, leaning off the wall to stand right before the cell in the middle. He barely acknowledged her. "Well...Long time for you. Not really for me."

She gestured towards the hourglass down the hall and turned back to him. There was very little light here, even with Heaven itself, sifting rays down on them. It made it hard to see Michael's expression.

But she wasn't wrong. Time was measured differently here. Very little time could pass in the mortal realm while a great deal passed here. Heaven was built that way. It was probably why most of them went from fledgling to fully grown in a very short span of time. It made time easier for training. It also seemed to further emphasize the idea of eternity around here.

Michael stood up from his seat and approached the bars. " Metatron."

"I'm sorry it came to this," said Metatron, gesturing to the cell. "This imprisonment. If it was up to me..I'd have it different."

"It _is_ up to you," Michael replied coldly.

"Right, I suppose it is," said Metatron cheerfully. "But I don't expect you to be very cooperative with what I have to ask. After all...It is regarding your son after all."

"You want to kill him," said Michael in a hollow voice. "You're right. I won't cooperate with anything regarding that."

"I know you wish to save him," Metatron answered. "But I can tell you there's no saving one such as that. Not easily. Would you like to see him?"

"Is he here?" Michael's voice lifted slightly.

"Oh, come now. He wouldn't be that stupid," said Metatron. Then she shrugged. "Or maybe he would. You would know better than I. He's certainly gotten more ambitious since the last time you saw him, hasn't he?"

"What have you done to him, Metatron," said Michael flatly. He came forward and gripped the iron bars tight in his palms. His skin sizzled from the burn of the barrier between them but he didn't care. His grip was tight, knuckles straining and several veins becoming prominent. "What have you done to my son?! ANSWER ME!"

His voice was a roar and had there been no barrier between them, Metatron actually might have been intimidated. A little. But there was a barrier and he had broken down so much that it didn't matter what threats he threw out.

Metatron's voice was a complete contrast to Michael's. Echoing calm. "I haven't done anything to him yet, Michael. Not yet."

"Not yet. But you plan on. You wrote the damn Scripture. Don't tell me it's your duty to destroy what it created on it's own," Michael snarled. "Castiel. Shadowalker. Dean. They're just victims of the-"

Metatron closed the distance between them in a single step, getting as close as she could to the barrier without letting it touch her. The ground seemed to shake with that step and Michael saw lightning crackle at her feet.

"Your son just razed an entire city down to the ground. Shadowalker enslaved an entire battalion of troops into mindless walking blackness. Castiel killed an innocent boy whom he claimed was a friend and dragged one of our down into Treachery for his own personal gain. These fragments are _not_ innocent. They are _not_ victims. They are walking abominations and they must be destroyed. Your sentiment has clouded your judgement," said Metatron sharply. She raised her chin a little. "I know you. I have trained under you. Everything I have ever learned, I learned through you. I know you will not help me because you love your son. So that's why I opted for a much better solution."

She pulled the Scripture from inside her sheath where she had stuffed it. Not very good treatment of something so "sacred" indeed. It looked dead and lifeless in her hands. Granted, it always had been. But the last time Michael had looked upon the Scripture, there stood Dominion. And before that, even, it was always lit with permanent radiance. It was strange that it looked like a discarded handkerchief that had been used and abused over a long period of time.

"Where did you find that? That...That was destroyed,"

"This is an echo. It's a memory," said Metatron, indicated the Scripture with a little shake. "It's a shadow of what it once was. It's just a memory of Dominion. Nothing more."

"And you plan on what, using that memory to kill them?" Michael surmised. "You already killed Carmen, Metatron. You know your days are numbered from here on when Dean finds you."

"A demon holds no ground against an Archangel," said Metatron irritably.

"I'm sure that's what Raphael thought too," said Michael.

"A traitor has no place in this kingdom. He was losing his ties to heaven long before he engaged Dean in battle. It was easy for a demon to best him. Now, back to my earlier question. Do you want to see your son?"

"Why, so you can torment me some more, Metatron?" Michael smiled humorlessly. "I'll pass on that. But I can assure you that I will get free. You can't hold me in my own prison. I built this place. Once-"

"Words are words and threats execute with action. You're going to stay in your cage until I find a viable method of destroying the fragments through this," Her eyes fell on the Scripture, and she looked down on it, while continuing to address Michael, twirling it carelessly through her fingers. "I'm an Archangel, Michael. I serve Heaven above all. There was a time when Father put them human beings above us and there was a time when many of our brethren had a problem with it. I was_ not _among those Fallen. I have always looked out for the best interests of humanity. If I have to kill three fragments who have done much more harm than actual good...Then I will do so. After all, I love a good challenge. So go ahead, Michael. Go right ahead. Promise me your empty threat and allow me to give you a _real _one."_  
><em>

She stepped back and crossed her arms, leaning forward slightly in a taunting manner, something she learned very easily from Michael himself. "I will find a way to destroy the fragments. These pieces of Dominion are just what they are. Pieces. None of them have achieved Dominion yet and I don't plan on letting them either. We were created to protect the mortal realm and ensure it's survival at all costs. I do hope, in your time in this cage, Michael...That you remember that."

* * *

><p><strong>Seattle<strong>

* * *

><p>Balthazar was <em>not<em> running away.

He had made a promise and he intended to keep it. At least that was what he kept telling himself. Terrible things were underway...and every living being could feel it. People were scared. A ten minute talk with the president did nothing to calm people down. Not when evidence of chaos brewing under the surface was everywhere. News reports were flashing everywhere on every screen outside, heard through every radio and updating on every bulletin board.

Why not, when too much was happening at once? When the world was literally breaking apart? The sun had not been seen in three days since Chicago was under fire. It was hidden behind constantly moving black and grey storm clouds, giving the effect that it was always nighttime or nearing it. People were afraid to go to work. Afraid that something might happen, afraid perhaps...of the truth.

Monsters existed only in stories to these people. They existed in legends meant to scare children or give adults a thrill from fiction. Despite various accounts during the years, there was no viable evidence that anything outside the ordinary truly existed. Even the stories in the bible were less believed by most, with quite a few people merely taking the moral lesson in the story rather than the belief that such horrors truly existed.

Of course some people did believe. Truly believe with all of their souls. That's not to say those rare few didn't exist. But they were getting fewer and fewer as the years passed...and now...only now, was their proof beginning to blossom that something else was out there. Oh, people were starting to believe now. Cities didn't just burn without a spark. Holes didn't randomly open and steam black smoke for no reason. And no one was buying the president's crap about a terrorist attack.

Balthazar came to this city because it was a big one...like Chicago. He had spent enough time with Castiel as a human in a big city that he was used to it. It kept his mind off the current predicament, but he didn't dare let himself get too comfortable. The demons were free now...and that meant being on his guard. Demons feasted on Celestial grace and though Balthazar had pretty much borrowed the Grace he was utilizing, that didn't stop him from being on his guard.

He wondered a lot since the attack on Chicago. He wondered about the wherabouts of everyone. Where was Dean now? He had been quiet since Chicago...Did he return to Hell? Did he reclaim Hell or was he still on Earth? The latter seemed more possible. No one could deny Dean didn't look simply murderous upon first sight. He was plotting something...which made Balthazar wonder about his good friend Castiel. They had had their differences in the past. Castiel had made some choices...and Balthazar was in the end, dragged along with him. But Castiel retained his moral compass when he was of sound mind. Granted, there was a period of darkness in his life that he would likely not forget...but he was not like Dean. He had not given himself completely into what he had become. Fallen, yes. But in name only.

That was a side effect of being Dominion's Compassion. You couldn't escape it. No matter how much his old friend hardened himself against his problems and obstacles, he would retain compassion as strong as any angel bred from the kingdom of heaven. So what was Castiel doing? Did he agree with Dean now? Did he look upon the attack on Chicago with support and glee? The latter seemed impossible and yet Balthazar himself was an eyewitness to the extreme degree of attachment Castiel had to Dean. There was almost nothing he wouldn't do for him. Even betray himself of all people.

And was that so reciprocated now that the demon had quite literally shut off his humanity?

And then there was Dante. The Shadowalker. Where did he walk now? Last he had heard from Castiel, Dante was "incapacitated" and as Castiel had put it, he was pretty harmless. Balthazar wondered how long that would ring true with Dean utilizing so much power. Surely Dante would be number one on the hit list?

Yet, he was remaining quiet. Maybe Balthazar should have been grateful for that too.

He hadn't forgotten his promise to Sam. The promise to save Dean. He had cut the little cottage off from any connection other than light and AC. He wouldn't allow Jessica to go back on her deal with Dean. Lest Sam end up losing her too for the wrong reasons. Balthazar even went so far as to cut the nearby town off from outside news, feeding them a glamor spell that gave them the impression that everything was fine in the outside world. They didn't need to panic and Sam or Jessica didn't need to run themselves headfirst into danger. Maybe it wasn't the most moral thing to do, but it was for his own good.

This place was not safe to be right now. It didn't help that Balthazar was utilizing Zachariah's Grace. It was a relief to gain his immortal flame back, to utilize power when power was necessary. But there was a slight problem with that. Each angel had it's own power signature...and his was actively being detected as Zachariah's. If an angel got curious enough to find him, they would and they'd know that Zachariah was really dead and Balthazar was walking around using his power. Of course he didn't doubt that Heaven had marked him as a traitor by now. They would probably execute him as surely as they would execute Castiel. He had certainly done enough wrongs.

A good advantage to that however was that Zachariah was still Linked to the chain of command and his power reflected that. He heard Heaven's every word exchanged between minds that wasn't spoken out loud. He'd probably know when to run if the angels were coming down on him. So far, it was quiet save for a few reports of demon fights between angels. There was no lie or denial. The demons that had come free of Hell were searching for angels. And it was almost like the demons were looking for a particular angel. The few occurrences and battles that were happening seemed to be centered around hallowed ground...almost as if the demons were taunting them. Yet there was few...still very few. The angels stationed on Earth were confused. The dimensional doors had cracked down. Every demon was free. And yet where were they? Aside from the obvious weather change...they had not shown their faces since Chicago.

Balthazar was waiting for them to make an appearance, laying low.

The president was making another address tonight. And the entire nation would be watching. He'd address the problem the nation was facing and the solution he was going to pose to congress. Balthazar sighed to himself, stationing himself inside a very crowded bar. It was easy to lose your train of thought here. There was a lot of noise, a lot of laughter. Balthazar found he liked it very much.

Yet when it hit seven on the dot, the owner switched the channel off the game and straight to the local channel where a reporter was giving live updates of the events leading up to the address, including the current situation in Chicago, the nation's building unrest and the last speech that the president gave that left quite a few questions unanswered.

Balthazar sipped his coffee slowly, eyes on the screen, ignoring that he was in a cramped space. He had donned familiar civilian clothing just for the occasion, hiding his armor and keeping his power signature rather low. If demons were around, he couldn't sense them inside this bar, and they couldn't sense him. But having seen most demons in person and having seen the distinguishing traits of the Order of Tarana, he'd know if one was nearby regardless. The entire bar went silent when the countdown on the screen to the address ticked to zero and they switched live to the president sitting in his oval office.

He looked stressed, Balthazar noted. Slicking his hair back and slapping him in a business suit didn't change the fact that he looked paler, almost sickly, with spots on his face. Even some of his hair seemed to have whitened overnight. He did not look like a leader in that moment. He looked like a broken man who had no choice but to repeat what was being said on the teleprompter in front of him. A speech that was no doubt written not by his own hand but by others speaking for him.

"Good Evening, America" The President started, staring right into the screen, looking into the soul of every scared soul staring back at him. "A tragedy has fallen upon our nation less than three days ago. The date will remain in infamy as the day one of our beloved cities fell...Today I address the nation as a whole not as your president, not as your leader, but among you in the loss we have all suffered..."

The same old dribble as before. Speaking too long on the tragedy that everyone went through. The people wanted answers, not pity and sympathy. They needed, they wanted their leader to state who was behind this.

Of course they'd never know...they'd never address the truth live to the world. Nobody believed these days...It was sad and unfortunate. Balthazar sipped the whiskey he ordered and felt it sting as it swished around his entire mouth. He shouldn't have allowed himself to get drunk. He should have been utilizing every method he could to find Dean. He was fairly confident that Dean had yet to return to Hell...and so he didn't bother finding a portal there, even though there was plenty. After all, what was the point in releasing every demon ever if you really wanted to just go home. No, he was here...somewhere.

"Drinking is a health hazard," The voice made Balthazar nearly fall off his bar stool. It was Dante. Balthazar swirled around in his seat, his hand reaching wildly for the sword sheath underneath his coat. A hand clamped hard around his wrist and tightened painfully. Balthazar felt it temperate. Something akin to his own cold temperature.

Dante.

He looked different from what Balthazar remembered. The last time Balthazar saw his old "friend", he was screaming after him as Castiel, Carmen and himself escaped Treachery. The word was that he was bound there in. So the answer to the question, 'Where is Dante?' came pretty fast.

Now Dante looked much like he had in Treachery with that stupid smug face smiling down at him. And yet at this close proximity, Balthazar could smell blood. Angelic blood was different from human blood. It actually did smell. Not bad, per say. It was infused with Will, or dying Will...and that made it give off an odor. If he could akin that odor to anything in particular, he might say it smelled like the scent that saturated the air when a candle was blown out.

It was very potent on Dante. He was bleeding somewhere. Or he had just recovered from an injury. It was not something he could physically detect just by looking at him.

His gaze swiveled up to meet Dante's eyes. Dante was drawn disturbingly close, inches away from Balthazar's face still holding onto him and preventing him from touching his weapon except for a scrape of fingers before his hand was pulled back and flattened on the surface of the bar. They drew stares but Balthazar didn't care. All his attention was focused upon Dante.

"You...I thought you were.."Balthazar began.

"Dead? Get your shit together. Keep your hand on the table or I cut it off," said Dante in a low, threatening voice. He released Balthazar and Balthazar felt a tingle where blood rushed back to circulate in his hand.

"Dante," Balthazar began. "How? How are you unbound? Castiel bound your power. This is-"

"And Castiel unchained me from the lock. Yadda, yadda. Now there's an apocalypse," said Dante impatiently. He noticed they were still attracting stares and his dark eyes flashed rather annoyed over everyone before he turned back to Balthazar and his voice shot up an octave in exaggeration. "There you are, sweetheart! Don't you play hard to get anymore. What about our wedding?!"

Without further prompting, he captured Balthazar's face between his hands and yanked him forward for a kiss. Caught by surprise, Balthazar froze for a moment while Dante pressed their lips together very tightly, further exaggerating the situation more by pulling away with a "Mwah" sound and smacking his lips together. The watching patrons turned away, some in amusement, some in disgust, returning their attention back to the presidential speech.

"What the hell, Dante," was all Balthazar could say.

Dante had turned his back on him and seated himself at an empty table directly in the middle of the bar, but one without any nearby occupants. He pulled his chair back and placed his feet at the top, crossing them, giving the bartender a taunting look as if daring him to say something.

The one thing common about Dante, Dean and Castiel was their love of the color black. Dean and Castiel with their leather jackets and Dante with that long black overcoat. He could literally hide an entire arsenal in the inner pockets of that coat.

He gestured for Balthazar to sit in front of him and Balthazar threw him a scowl. He carried his drink over and settled down in front of him as directed.

"Is there a reason why Castiel decided to unchain you? You're not the best company to be in at this moment," said Balthazar scathingly.

"Balthazar. I'm the best company to be in at _any_ moment," Dante countered.

Balthazar grimaced and looked to the entrance where he spotted Crowley, guarding the door from further entry like a bodyguard. He never spoke to the demon personally and had only seen him right before falling into Treachery after Carmen attacked him. It was Dante's demon. He could see the resemblance. Except...half of Crowley's face had been smoothed into softer skin from a horrible burn. Only hell fire could damage a demon to that degree, and only one of royal status could do such a thing.

Where was Carmen anyway? Wouldn't she be ideal to stand up against Dean?

Castiel had visited Carmen...and met Dante too in Hell. Maybe he knew.

"What are you doing here, is what I meant," said Balthazar. "You know it's dangerous for you."

"It's dangerous more for you than it is for me," said Dante. " But I'm more surprised to find you lounging around in a bar than out there fighting for your planet where the demons nest. Is there a particular reason why you prefer the company of alcohol to your commandeering duties?"

"I'm not Commander," said Balthazar coldly. "I'm an angel. Nothing more."

Dante raised an eyebrow at him. "Stolen Grace. You're not wearing your own pants, Balthazar. Why is that?"

"I didn't ask for it," said Balthazar.

"You're not giving it back," Dante replied.

"Why are you here?" Balthazar asked directly, again. "Where's Carmen? Shouldn't she have you leashed?"

Balthazar watched a muscle jump in Dante's cheek and some color seemed to drain out of his expression. Yet he kept that smile plastered on his face like he was practicing a poker face. " Carmen's dead, Balthazar."

"What?" Balthazar said, outraged. His voice rose some eyebrows by its projection and he rushed to hiss. "What do you mean, she's dead?"

"She's dead, Balthazar," said Dante. "You can blame the state of things on many things. But her death would be an significant contribution, I daresay."

"God," Balthazar ran a hand through his hair and took a large sip of his drink. "She's...dead. I can't believe it...She was so young."

Balthazar kept his thoughts on Carmen for a brief spell. He had witnessed Dean literally lose himself after watching Lisa kill Sam...and then on top of that Carmen had died to too? Dean must have seen it. He must have witnessed and felt it. The bond between a demon and it's maker is always strong. So he had witnssed Sam's death and then Carmen's through the joined bond. Dean was in transition after he killed Lisa. He must have reconnected with Carmen just in time to feel her death.

That was why he was like this. That was why the world was on the verge of collapse. But who had killed her?

"Who killed her?"

"I'm really not sure at this time," said Dante vaguely. "But I'm sure you can guess it wasn't a demon."

"How do I know_ you_ didn't kill her?" Balthazar's eyes narrowed.

Dante stared at him for a moment. "I had no incentive to kill her."

"Oh, so the crown she wore wouldn't have anything to do with it?" Balthazar asked, skipping out all subtlety.

"Do you _see_ me wearing a crown? No, that's been lovingly replaced on Dean's big head," Dante snapped impatiently. "So no incentive. It wasn't me. If you're done accusing me..."

"Can you blame me?" Balthazar chuckled without much humor. "After everything, really? After everything you've done. After every choice you made. You haven't exactly been anyone's best friend, Dante."

Dante flicked his gaze away, looking directly at Crowley. "You and I go way back, Balthazar."

"So we do," said Balthazar as if he was admitting something very unpleasant. He looked at Dante for a long time, simply measuring the Fallen that was before him. " I never dreamed you would have done the things you've done. I would have never dreamed you capable. You think you know someone and then..."

"They change," Dante finished mildly. " You'd think you'd have learned your lesson well after Castiel."

"Castiel didn't hurt me. _You_ did," said Balthazar, raising his eyes from his glass and staring right at Dante in the eyes. They were dark. Unlike Castiel's dark blue and Dean's bright green, he could only see endless shadow in Dante's eyes. In the old days, these eyes seemed to sparkle with the curiosity of old. Now that shadow represented something else altogether.

Balthazar's only fleeting satisfaction was watching the Shadowalker blink and turn away in some shame. Good. For a moment, it seemed like the angel he once knew was back. The one who stood side by side with him for so long. They were close, there was no denying that. Closer than even Castiel and himself had been. Dante represented a past that Balthazar could never have again. His eyes seemed to clear...and perhaps for a moment, he truly felt something.

Dante dropped his legs from the table and sat up straight. His eyes were focused elsewhere on the television screen. "I need your help."

Balthazar laughed without humor. "Really. You need my help. That's new. So you're not going to try to turn me mortal and leave me powerless?"

Dante's eyes flashed. Maybe guilt. Maybe annoyance. "Not today."

"Why should I help you? Why should I even trust you for that matter?" Balthazar countered. "You haven't exactly proven to be the most trustworthy Fallen in the universe. You know...after trying to _kill _us all."

"Let's get something square," Dante leaned forward and all the darkness returned in his gaze. "If I wanted you dead, you all _would_ be. Don't get it twisted that Dean Winchester is the most fearsome being in the world. He's _not._"

"Dante," Balthazar sighed.

"You want Dean stopped. I know the way. I'm guessing by the fact that you are completely alone in this city means that you have cut off your ties to the celestial realm. That's good. That's what I need," said Dante. "And it works to your advantage. I think you want to stop this madness as much as I do."

"You're Havoc. Shouldn't you be basking in the glory that one of the other fragments got bigheaded enough to lay a claim to this planet?" Balthazar asked flatly.

Dante's lip twitched in a small smile. "Two hells, is one too many. And _he_ should know better."

Balthazar stared at him for a long time, simply considering. "Maybe I should pass on that. I work better on my own."

Dante chuckled. "In what world is that true? Besides, you need me too, Balthazar. To do all the things _you_ are restricted to do by something you call a moral code."

"You think so," said Balthazar, then his eyes went to the TV where the president was completing his speech.

"Effective immediately, the US is declaring open war on the sovereign nation of Afghanistan. Already our naval forces and ground troops are prepared..."

"Are they seriously blaming a middle eastern country for this attack?" Balthazar asked, staring at the screen in distraction.

"Of course they are," said Dante mildly. "What else can they do? I'd personally have gone with a volcanic eruption."

"This isn't right," said Balthazar, glancing at him. "They can't do this."

Before Dante could respond, the lights flickered on and off but the screen remained on, turning into static and white noise out of nowhere.

"What, did we lose signal?" Everyone was scrambling around and complaining, eyes on the bartender who pulled up a chair and proceeded to start to unscrew something from the back or adjust it to get it back on.

* * *

><p><strong>Washington D.C<strong>

* * *

><p>"What happened?" President Maxwell asked, leaning back in his seat. He was in total darkness, and he eyed the camera crew infront of him with blatant disdain. Power outage at a time like this? This was the worst time to leave the nation hanging.<p>

"Sorry sir...Sounds like a blackout," said the cameraman. "Somebody go check outside."

"What, is it raining?" He stared around, looking behind him out the window where the wind roared horribly and the sound of thunder was loud. Not rain. This was a thunder storm like he had never seen. He couldn't even see past the pouring water on the glass coming down like it was being continuously doused.

Then he heard a fission of sound as the power came back on and the AC blared on from above the president's head. The networks were rebooting up and he sighed in exasperation at the prospect of starting from the bottom up on his speech.

Outside the office was a different story. The front doors opened, knocking security aside as a figure in black emerged. Black attire with only one item of clothing in white, the shirt below a leather jacket. In his hand was a long sword that he held loose by his side. His hair was black, his face was pale.

Castiel.

Secret Service scrambled to right themselves, raising their primitive weapons to shoot him down. But he started walking, each step passing a light that sparked before exploding in a shower of glass. Red lightning formed tendrils around him like it was part of his aura.

There was bang as bodies were tossed aside like ragdolls. The bullets thrown Castiel's way never pierced skin or clothing, they stopped, floating with him as though frozen in mid-air. He struck the air almost lazily and the bullets were sent back, fired in the same exact place that each individual had tried to aim for. Blood splashed his face and his clothes upon the next pass.

President Maxwell was not oblivious to the commotion outside. The Secret Service that he had inside the oval office had went to the door, created a line before the door in preparation as they heard the screams, grunts of their fellow men. The lights flickered inside the office just once The guards had ordered President Maxwell to stay covered behind his desk.

But of course he continued to peek up, just to see. His camera crew had not dispersed, stationed behind the line of guards as they aimed for the door. The head of security had his walkie in front of him.

"Delta Team! Status report. Report now! We're facing a level one breach. Can you identify the attacker? Delta Team, respond! Is anyone alive out there?"

But all he heard on the other end was static. He dropped the walkie and turned to the door just as the footsteps of the one outside continued to approach in that disturbingly slow manner.

"Steady," The head security guard said.

The doors burst open and Castiel entered the threshold again.

"Open fire!" The guard called.

Castiel snapped his fingers and lightning struck the ground between each guard, knocked them aside straight down the middle. They hit the walls hard, slumping downward.

Just as the doors opened, the light from the teleprompter flicked on and the red light from the camera focused on the president again. How? They were live again. The President stared blankly at the red light then back at Castiel before slowly raising from his knelt position

Before he could make a sound, there was a blur of black as something swept past Castiel and rushed Maxwell. He saw a glimpse of a man of younger age. Late twenties. Not yet thirty even. But his face was terrifyingly inhumane with lines and lines of black branching across his cheeks and neck. It was just a glimpse is what he saw. And it was all he needed as the boy...or the man...who knew. Nothing like that deserved a human title. The one who came turned him over. Maxwell saw a flash of silver just before the demon's blade came down into his open mouth.

Maxwell died instantly, but Dean reached down, thrust a hand into his chest as though the flesh and cloth were made of butter and wrenched out a bloody heart.

"Do NOT turn off the camera!" Dean called, pointing directly at it as he threw aside the bleeding organ. "You've seen how quickly I can kill."

His eyes swept on the camera and he pushed aside the body of the president carelessly, taking his place on the seat and blood pooled and dripped from the desk from the floor where his shoes flattened. Dean was not wearing the torn and bloodied clothes that he had been last seen in. He wore the black jacket and the blank tank top that he was known for. Dean stabbed the sword into the wood, letting it seep in three inches before he let it go, the blood rolling down the steel in a sickening slow manner.

Blood stained his hands and he enclosed them together with a truly, unpleasant smile.

"Ladies and Gentlemen. My name is Dean Winchester and I have been alive for over three thousand years. But in your years, it's a much shorter duration. You may be asking yourself why. But we'll get to that. Let me first address the reason for this man's death," Dean took a hold of the hilt of his upturned sword. "No sand people are taking credit for my work. Congress, the president...your national security representatives want to perpetrate the notion that the destruction of Chicago was an act of war declared by a nation that neither has the capability nor the resources to execute such an attack. But the truth is much more complex...and I'm here to dispel this illusion this man dared to create on national television."

"The destruction of Chicago was _not_ an act of war from the middle east. It was in the actions of one being. Me. I destroyed Chicago. I destroyed your _beloved_ city simply because I was inclined to do so at the time. The mood struck me and I felt inspired to create an artwork. Did you like my piece, America? I painted the city red and black...Just. For. You. You see, I'm not like you. I'm not a person. I'm something more. Perhaps you've heard of the legends. Perhaps you've seen the movies and read the stories that you tell your children at night to keep them off the bad path. For I am no person. I am a monster...and I bathe through the destruction that causes you despair. I soak in the blood and I eat the flesh."

Dean held up his hand, flattened it palm up as an orb of revolving golden fire appeared to be floating there without physically touching him, conjured through his magical means.

"But I am not the only one. There are many more like me. And more being created every moment of every day. Mine is not a race you can destroy with your pistols and your knives. Mine is a kind that lives, breathes and develops into the heart of every single one of you. It does not die. It consumes. It will never stop...because _I_ will not stop. I come to you as a representation of the darkness and sin that you spineless monkeys succumb to every second of every day."

"Chicago. Manhattan. This is just the beginning. But let's start out cooperative, shall we? I will destroy a city every hour until this planet turns black under my hand. You people have three days to do as I tell you, or my threat becomes your reality," The flame in Dean's hand shifted, changed and became a mini-display of a man with short hair and a long black trenchcoat. It zoomed in and Dante's face became clearer like a golden hologram. "Deliver me this man. Do not be fooled. He looks like you, talks like you...But he is not one of you. He is a shadow. Bring me his body to this doorstep, alive...and your planet is spared of this apocalypse. Three days."

The image of Dean turned into white noise and static as the power flickered yet again.

* * *

><p>And slowly, back in Seattle, Balthazar's gaze slowly turned towards Dante just as the rest of the bar did the same.<p>

Balthazar was speechless by the end of it. Dean looked much worse in appearance and state then he had three days ago. It seemed he had finally given into his demonic taint fully and lost all sense of humanity. His tone was bitter and he kept his face smooth as he spoke to Dante directly. "Not the most fearsome being in the world, huh? _You_ were saying?"


	5. Out of My Mind

Castiel approached Dean, stepping over bodies. Most of his own making. He stopped just opposite Dean on the other side of the desk that looked like it had been given a new surface covering in blood. The demon had his back to him, looking out the large window, his arms crossed. The storm raged outside and Castiel knew it was his own doing, his own barely contained Will manifesting outside in the form of what looked like a hurricane. Castiel was disgusted at the sight of it, and even more disgusted that he played a part. He killed these men with the use of his power through Retribution. You may have been wondering why. He was starting to wonder that himself.

Dean had insisted they needed to "send a message". But first he wanted to gather his army. He had them venture to every activation/focus site that had been used to restore Dean to power, gathered the army in the first circle of Hell where Dean reclaimed his birthright as king with the bone crown atop his head. All while various demons of Imperial class passed Castiel by and patted him in congratulations.

Really though, what were they celebrating? The apocalypse? The end of the world? Castiel eyed them all with disgust. He never liked demons much, even while becoming a Fallen. Fallen and Demons were at war since Dean first became King. There would always be strife there. This Order of Tarana, this order that came from Dean and Lucifer's bloodline directly, was no exception. The only difference between them and the normal Imperial-Class demons was that they bore marks and they were a tad bit more arrogant.

But they were still cannon fodder. Dean would sooner chop them up into tiny pieces and serve them on a plate to his enemies than consider any of them his equal. Aside from the first time in Chicago when he addressed them as mindless dogs to slaughter and then referred to them as pawns...He had never said more. But obviously that was enough indication on how the King viewed his subjects.

Maybe he should have felt good. They were together. There was at least that. But Dean had changed. That much was certain. It was not just the loss of humanity. There was a sinister edge to him that had never been there before. It was almost like he delighted in the suffering of others. Not uncommon for a demon. But uncommon for Dean.

Or maybe Castiel did not know Dean as well as he thought he would. He could only vouch for the time he knew Dean to now. He could not account for what happened before...and there was quite some time Dean spent on the seat of power without Castiel around to see it.

If you asked him why he had done it, why he had killed, when he clearly protested the notion, Castiel wouldn't know what to tell you. As Dean's Guardian now, he was obligated to destroy his enemies at all costs. Human life was no exception to this. No matter how innocent. He was a Fallen now and Fallen as a rule did not adhere to the human and celestial laws that prohibited such destruction.

But that didn't mean he didn't feel that guilt as he cut them down. Castiel did not possess a soul. He possessed an angelic equivalent known as Grace. Also known as the immortal flame. It was the source of an angel's power, whether Fallen or Celestial. It tainted just like a soul would. For a celestial, the Grace would taint into the Grace of a Fallen.

Without the rules of a celestial, it was impossible not to delve into the darker magics of the world. There was almost no restrictions except for the ones that an individual placed upon themselves.

Castiel may have been the only celestial who still did that. Fallen as he may have been...Retribution...It did not change who he was. He fell because of Dean. He fell to find Dean and not a single day had gone by that he regretted the decision. Even now, looking at him. He didn't regret it. He never would.

There was such a silence following his bold declaration on television. Castiel had used his power to make his broadcast overpower all others, stretch across lines and up to the satellites above so that everyone looking at any type of screen, be it a TV, a computer monitor, a laptop monitor or even a cellphone would be forced to look upon Dean's face as he laid down his message. He had given the world three days to deliver him Dante. And he wasn't exactly clear about it. Nowhere in the broadcast did it say that he wanted them to bring Dante Shadowalker dead. But considering the person...no one would make it out alive if they encountered Dante.

A demon walked into the oval office after them, completely oblivious and uncaring to the bodies he passed. It was one of those Tarana Demons, with a long monks robe and a permanently twisted grimace on his face. Castiel hated the sight of them. They rarely spoke, and when they did, it was in complete reverance to Dean. Castiel may as well have been part of the wall for the attention he was given by them. Which was funny, considering Castiel was much stronger than any Tarana Demon.

Without turning, Dean addressed him. "The barrier is in place?"

"Yes, my liege," said the Tarana demon. Ugh and his voice sounded disgusting too. Grainy like he had a cough.

"Good. Keep things orderly topside. I'll be back. Anyone who is not Dante comes through the doors, kill them," said Dean, but then he laughed a bit to himself. "But trust me. I'm not counting on Dante making an early pit stop to see me."

A moment or so passed and Dean moved, the ground below them turned black and Castiel knew that Dean had opened one of the many thousand portals that led straight into the first circle. He let himself be swallowed in it. The scenery around him changed, shifted and became something he had grown familiar with. Hell fire was not something he longed to revisit. The sensation of being close to burning but not close enough to redden skin. Castiel had spent too long in Hell to familiarize with the realm. Ten years between with various circles of Hell between. The deeper he went, the hotter it became...

Lucky for him, Dean had taken him to Pride. It was the coldest place in Hell, which wasn't much, considering. This was Dean's castle, changed back to what he knew by Carmen. Dean approached the the throne, ran his fingers along the armrests and felt the cold metal as it brushed skin. He did not hesitate in placing himself down on the seat. And though Castiel could not physically see it, he could feel heat waves increase inside the castle walls.

They had left the mortal realm. For now. But Castiel knew with Dean's threat on national television that they would not spend long here. Dean would have liked to bask in this victory. And yet what victory was that when Dante was not dead and now the entire mortal realm had to witness the power of a demon on television and watch their leader die?

There was no one else around them aside from the Imperial Guards that held a post near the doors. They were free after all. Every single demon was free to roam earth.

And God had abandoned them. He had let Carmen die. Strange how being on the opposing side long enough made you realize that abandonment so late. He had surmised that Crowley was working with Heaven before Chicago fell and he was wrong. Heaven truly had abandoned them. And yet where had Michael gone? Did the Activation Site he went to in LA kill him?

Shouldn't they have interfered by now? Michael had come down to take care of Lucifer immediately after Manhattan fell. Who was leading the heavenly army? Were they in disarray?

He wished he could find Balthazar to find this information out, but then with a pang, he remembered that his old friend was mortal. And he prayed to himself that he got out in time. Dean hadn't said much when Castiel asked two days ago, merely smiled at him in that strange way and said that he needn't worry about Balthazar.

Castiel supposed that would do, for now in his worries. Mortal or not, Balthazar was once his commanding officer and one of his closest friends.

"I hope you're satisfied," Castiel spoke at last, watching Dean's face closely. Dean's lazy position on the throne was all relaxation and serene. But Castiel knew better. And he knew _Dean_ better as well. Dean was not relaxed. His outside appearance was smug and satisfied at what he had done. Smug because he had taken out a leader of something great. It was just like a great conqueror to feel victorious after this.

Even though the resistance they faced was minimal at best. Dean was not totally at ease. His body, his mind, his instincts were tuned to everything around him. He may not have been able to read Castiel's mind directly without force, but he was pretty confident Dean could feel the change in the air, could feel that something was off...and perhaps he could feel Castiel's own tension, emitting off himself in waves.

"I am," Dean responded without looking at Castiel. "Aren't you?"

"Am I?" Castiel repeated with a dry chuckle. "What do you think?"

Dean sighed. "I can only guess your mind. I'm not a telepath. I can read memories, Angel. But what I'm assuming is you're not as...pleased as I."

"No statement. No message you wish to send to scare your enemies is worth the deaths of innocent lives," said Castiel slowly.

"I didn't see you complain when you took care of those secret service," said Dean, narrowing his eyes and looking at his interlocked fingers contemplatively with a twisted sort of grimace, mixed with pride and admiration.

"I'm your Guardian," Castiel all but growled. The impulse to move towards the throne, shake some sense into him was very hard to ignore. "I'm _obligated_ to protect you at the cost of my life. Even if your methods are...cruel at best."

"My methods are cruel?" Dean smiled and finally looked his way. It always made Castiel flinch internally to look at Dean in this state. Those eyes, usually so bright and green seemed to darken on Castiel in a menacing sort of fashion. Castiel had a feeling he'd never get used to Dean looking like that. Dean leaned towards him very slowly. It made him uncomfortable. Everything about Dean since the moment they left Chicago made him uncomfortable.

He had left the burning city with a fleeting feeling that it was okay. He promised Dean he would stay with him but now he was wondering the price for that promise. No, Castiel did not regret making the Life Debt to Dean while he was human. He wouldn't take back going into Treachery either one year ago either to save him. It cost him much...and yet now...only now was he wondering if this was the right thing to do.

Castiel didn't know how Dante would react to a public call out. And he didn't know how the citizens would react. For all Dean knew, Dante could have already been in hiding...and yet he had a feeling the Shadowalker was not one to hide his face for long. Not when a challenge was ready and waiting for him.

And he didn't want to see what would happen if Dante and Dean crossed blades. At least not right now.

"Maybe that's putting it too bluntly," said Castiel, his eyes darkening. "It's enough, Dean. You've done enough. You can stop now."

He had said these words before to Dean in Chicago just as the attack was commencing. And though Dean _did_ stop...Castiel had a feeling it wasn't because he was feeling merciful.

"You're never pleased with me. I even got you a big new white house and still you're displeased with me," Dean huffed. "I've done enough? You think so? You heard that threat I made on live television."

"Yes, I did...and I don't doubt that your _intended _audience heard it as well. What do you think is going to happen when Dante hears of this threat? What do you think these people are going to do? You're sending them all to their death," said Castiel. "Planting his face on national television and expecting a panicked mob of people not to act on it?"

"Hahaha," Dean leaned back and interlocked his fingers again and looked to the ceiling, keeping that smile on his face. "Don't tell me you're getting sentimental, Angel. Do you honestly believe that our _dear_ friend Dante doesn't deserve this? After everything? Everything he put us all through. After everything he put _you_ through? I would think you'd jump at the opportunity to dispose of him."

Castiel looked at Dean for a long time. He kept his expression clear of any emotion that would be a dead giveaway. And he kept that decent composure in his voice as he answered him. "I don't condone Dante's actions. He made a fool of us in Treachery. He manipulated me and he wanted to punish you. He got what he wanted and now it's over. He left Chicago. I do believe he has no quarrel with you or me anymore. There's no need for all this."

"You keep believing that then," said Dean absently. "This wasn't just for Dante."

"Oh really?" Castiel humored him. "What else was it for? To demonstrate your power to this realm? You've got Hell back. You've scared Heaven off the face of the planet. What more_ could_ you possibly want?"

"I'm Law, Angel. Everything I do. _Everything _is because I'm Law. I'm doing what I have to. I'm cleansing this planet of the vermin and I'm building a new world, Angel. Can you honestly say that this place is so much better than one I could build?"

"One you could build?" Castiel pressed a finger to his lips, pretending to think about it for a second. "I see blood and ash in your world. Your methods are cruel, like I said. Cruelty without rational thought is not far from insanity."

"That's a stirring phrase," said Dean, eyeballing Castiel as he slapped a hand over his heart. "Really. I'm so touched. I'm so moved that I feel compelled to change my ways. Tell me, Angel. Tell me more. Tell me more about this insanity I'm so close to falling into. Tell me. Tell me more."

Castiel narrowed his eyes. "You're mocking me."

Dean laughed that chilling laughter. In times past, whether Dean was demon or not, the sound of his laughter was refreshing. It usually always made Castiel feel ready to make light of the situation as well, no matter how serious. Now, however. That sound made a shiver run down his spine.

When he was done, he raised his gaze to meet Castiel's, slowly slipping back to seriousness while Castiel waited. "You're still such a boy scout. All these rules. I'm _Law. _I make the rules and regulations now. It's time to let go of all of our problems. This is our world now...and it's our time."

"What are you saying, Dean?"

"I'm saying _embrace _what you are," said Dean with such fervency that stood up and approached Castiel in one swift movement, drawing close to Castiel so he could feel his heat. "You're a Fallen. A creature of darkness now. Ten and more years you've spent your life this way and you still cling to the ideals of Heaven."

"I don't cling to any ideal of Heaven. Heaven is a twisted and corrupt realm and I had to learn that the hard way," Castiel retorted coldly. "But I believe in right and wrong. I believe in darkness. I believe in light. I have seen both ends and I have walked the path of both. I know what to regard as wrong. I know what to regard as right. These humans you slay for entertainment purposes. Their lives may not be innocent but-"

"Humanity is not a race you can justifiably defend, dear angel," said Dean, curling his fingers and stroking Castiel's cheek. He felt it tingle where Dean touched. "I'm the King of Hell. Don't forget that. There are more demons than there are human and the simple fact of the matter is that they are not a good race. My Father. Lucifer. He was right about that."

"You have never said that, your entire life," Castiel pointed out blandly. "You never believed he was right. Never once. Everything you've done was done to attest your difference to him and now?"

"And now my views have changed!" Dean shouted, losing his patience quickly. The walls shook and Castiel actually backed up a step by the force of Dean's anger. "SO what?! What is it to you?! What business is it of yours?! I have embraced what I am! Just because you are too afraid to do the same does not give you the right to compare yourself to me!"

"I have to believe that it's not this way," Castiel answered him with fervor. "I have to. I know the Dean I know is in there somewhere. I would not have stayed by your side _this _long...I would not have gone to Treachery. I went for you. I came back..._for you."_

_"_Then prepare yourself for some disappointment, Angel," said Dean, turning his back on him. It was unfortunate that the throne had many mirrors in the black iron so he caught his own expression and Castiel behind him reflected a number of times. The face that looked back at him was truly, the face of a monster. Dean did not realize how bad it had gotten...How much the darkness now encompassed him. Any other moment, he would not care for his appearance. But perhaps he should have known how close he was to succumbing fully to the darkness when his only pleasure these days came from the atrocities he inflicted upon others.

"I am _not_ your enemy, Dean. I will stay with you. I swore my life to you. If necessary, I will give it. No matter what kind of cause you've attributed to yourself...No matter what enemy you have...No matter what you do. I will stand by you," Castiel promised him.

Dean turned his way and passed him by, scoffing as he did so. "Well, thank God for the power of a Life Debt."

Castiel caught him around the elbow and pulled him back. "I swore that debt because I wanted to protect you, Dean. But it's more than that. There is no place for me out there in the world if you're not there too. Do you understand that?"

"Do I understand that?" Dean repeated, looking down at Castiel. "Heh. Yes, I understand very well."

He pulled himself free from Castiel and approached the throne again, simply staring at it for a long moment. "I was born in this world, you see. I was raised in ignorance of what I was until the day Lucifer killed me and made me his demon. Then fate chose me to become Dominion's Law. As it chose you. As it chose him. But I cannot exist in a world where Dante Shadowalker continues to exist. It's in my nature to destroy him. And that is something I _must_ do."

"No one makes us do anything, Dean," said Castiel pointedly. "You have a choice. And you can make the right one."

"The right _one_ is killing Dante," Dean snarled, turning his way. Again, his anger got the better of him. "I am through arguing this with you. This is _not_ a democracy, it is a monarchy. This is _not_ a republic, it is an empire. If you do not agree with my methods and seek to fight me at every turn for the things I do, then so be it. Just tell me.."

Dean wrenched his sword from his back and Castiel saw the faint red glow of runic symbols on the blade as he pointed it level to Castiel's face. "Is that your choice? Would you choose to spare the Shadowalker's life over mine? Do you think me so blind? You worked with Shadowalker to get into Treachery before...and I derived Carmen's memories before her tragic demise. Shadowalker was bound during your escape and he was unbound the moment I returned to full power. Only another fragment of Dominion could unbind Shadowalker through the invocation. Tell me something, do you take pleasure in playing the field on both sides or is this _all_ unconscious?"

Castiel was taken aback by the sudden change in direction in the conversation. He remained rattled, staring at Dean for a long time and then staring at the blade he had taken out to threaten him. Now, that wasn't something he had experienced since they first met. Actually, Dean didn't threaten him there either.

"Take it easy, Dean. It's not what you think," said Castiel, holding up his hands to indicate he meant no harm. He took a step to the side and Dean followed the movement, mirroring him. "I'm on your side. I always have been. I only wanted Dante to help me because he owed me that much at least."

Dean's eyes narrowed on Castiel rather coldly. He saw more of those black veins begin to form until they slithered under his eyes so thick that they looked like black shadows from lack of sleep.

"You're lying to me. You oppose me just like he does," said Dean in a dangerously calm voice that was barely containing his rage. Castiel saw a brief show of flames around Dean's shoulder before the power slowly seeped back into his body. So much power, he could feel it. And Dean did not have a strong grip on it. The human term was loose cannon. Dean's power was tied to his emotion. And the predominant emotion he was feeling was anger.

Deep down he probably knew only despair from what he had lost, from what he had witnessed. But he wasn't allowing himself to feel that. He had channeled it all into something else. Such was the byproduct of losing your humanity.

"Of course I don't oppose you. Don't be ridiculous...You don't know what you're saying. Calm down," said Castiel. "I'm concerned. That's all. I'm just worried about you. That's it."

Castiel heard a guttural snarl building inside Dean's chest even from his further proximity. Castiel approached him, leaned away from the sword that was pointed in his direction and stood directly before Dean, taking a hold of his face between his hands. Dean felt so hot under his hands.

"I care for you. So very much," Castiel whispered in earnest, drawing close, the merest brush of their lips together. He closed his eyes, welcomed the heat. "If anything were to happen to you, Dean...I don't know what I'd do. I don't know what would happen. I can't stand the idea. Don't you see, Dean? It's for you. I don't care who the person standing beside me is if it's not you."

_I'm out of my mind. I'm out of my mind for saying it. I know we have problems. When do you we not have problems? When is something horrible **not** waiting across the horizon? When are we not in mortal peril? Since I've met you, that's been my state. That's been your state. _

Castiel struggled to convey this without words. Human terms...Demon terms..They were hard to say. With Dean, it had always been something different from what he said and what he actually did. They were opposite in that manner. Castiel meant every word and every action was the truth as well. He wanted Dean to feel that, to understand that. He couldn't say it...what he really wanted to say in that moment.

Those three little words. Never spoken, never exchanged between them, even after all this time. And yet Castiel knew it was the truth, and the truth in his own feelings. He allowed others to say it, never verbally denied it, even when it was used as a poison or a weapon. What could he say? There was no point in denying it at all.

But perhaps the biggest fear was the rejection...or the possibility...the slight possibility that it would never be reciprocated. He couldn't say those words. Not when everything could have stabbed him in the back with his own sword.

Dean's body was very rigid and still under him, unmoving and unyielding. The anger inside him was so great and strong. All this negative spectrum power that had quite literally tainted Law inside of him. The loss of Carmen and the lie that Michael had built on him. His face was so close that Castiel could not help but notice everything. Once, long ago, Dante had said that Dean might be lost to him and gave him the suggestion that they could rebuild this body piece by piece from his own memory.

And yet Castiel felt his memory could not serve him justice. Even in Dean's current state. He could not shape these lips so perfect as they were, he could not bring those eyes back so bright and green. The dark brown hair, spiked in different sections, currently spiked and curved near the front where it was styled The skin so soft, softer than normal because it was scarred and broken by various battles and war-torn over the years. And of course that scar, hidden by black blood vessels right now, but still noticeable. Castiel traced the scar as he held him, pressed his cheek to Dean's.

They never get moments like this. Moments where Castiel could forget about the world, forget about Hell and Dante and everyone else, when all he was focused on was Dean. If they got them, they were fleeting. Taken away quickly in the current of chaos. That's all they knew. Both of them. Fighting a threat. It was like fate did not smile on what they were, and she deigned to destroy it all cost. A moment like this...so few as they were...always felt like he was deprived of it.

Slowly...Slowly, he started to feel Dean respond, lower his sword and he heard the clang as it hit the solid ground. Dean's snarling mouth was on his, warm and heat seared through Castiel like an electrical current. It was not so unlike their other kisses that Dean and he had managed to steal in the past for brief reprieves. But Castiel could feel his heat everywhere. He pressed his body further on Dean and the demon responded in turn, curling his arms under Castiel's arms and lifting him slightly in the pull.

Castiel wrapped his arms around Dean's neck just as Dean broke the kiss after a moment, the two of them breathing hard.

"My room," Dean muttered against Castiel's lips.

"Can we make it that far?" Castiel whispered, amused, breathing in every breath Dean gave.

Dean's eyes lit up in challenge. He moved, absolving Castiel's weight easily. The entire throne room became a blur around them, disappearing, and shifting to something darker. Castiel's arms wound around Dean tight, but the darkness covered this room. It had a distinct smell of Dean...Like he was everywhere. His grip under Castiel was hard until he released him, letting him fall onto a bed with a bit of a bounce.

It was hard to see, even with enhanced sight, but he anticipated the weight as Dean fell on top of him, gravitating towards his lips where he allowed Dean to take his breath away yet again, leaving him panting below while Dean moved away, kissing along his jaw, rubbing against the stubble as he went lower. His fingernails dug under Castiel again, underneath his leather jacket where Castiel began to feel the shirt he wore begin to rip from the strength of Dean's grip.

"Dean," He said in warning.

And the demon met his gaze with a smile, pecking him on the lips. Against them, he said. "No more talking for you."

His fingers curled and he tore the shirt from the back, pulling a long white strip in the dark that Castiel only caught the silhouette of. Castiel threw him a disapproving look that Dean didn't see. He didn't have much room to maneuver before Dean pulled him up again and yanked on the jacket until it was off Castiel's shoulders, down his sleeves where it loosened and flattened underneath his back. The strips of the white shirt that had remained, feeble and loose around him fell away as well.

Dean bombarded him again, silencing him with another kiss, holding him tight. Castiel reached for him too, his hands travelling down Dean's chest. His skin became progressively more heated the lower Castiel went. He stopped just above Dean's heart where the heat was most prominent. It felt like something was blazing there even with the restriction of Dean's tank top over it. He could relate to this only because his Grace was stored in his heart, and no matter how cold his skin, it always felt hot there. He wished he could focus some of his power in that instance. He could barely see Dean even as his eyes had already adjusted to the darkness, but he wished he could see. Feeling these veins underneath his touch without fully seeing them made them feel worse then they actually were.

He wished he could heal Dean.

Dean seemed to sense the direction of his thoughts or perhaps noticed all to well when Castiel's exploring hand stopped. He caught his hand, placed his own over Castiel's.

"It's all right. I'm not in any pain," Dean assured him in a whisper. He brought their interlocked hands up to his lips and kissed Castiel's fingertips.

But it looked painful even though Castiel couldn't see all of it. Castiel cupped Dean's face just as the demon drew close, leaned into the warmth before he kissed Castiel again, much more gently this time, almost in assurance to show how much control he actually had. He wouldn't allow himself to show weakness, not even to Castiel. His kiss almost felt painful, and Castiel felt his lips bruise and swell with each tug and bite and pull that Dean gave. All the while Dean tugged and pulled at the waistband of Castiel's jeans until it unclasped. He should have been grateful, he supposed. Considering it was something Dean didn't deign to tear.

Once Castiel was free of them, Dean was upon him yet again, whole body pressing Castiel further into the mattress. He touched too, carding his fingers through Dean's hair and splaying his fingers across Dean's neck. Dean had not lost all gentility, it seemed and for that Castiel was pleased. The last time they had done this, he was infected by poor memory and it was Castiel who had to guide him.

Now all of his memory had returned and Castiel didn't stop him. Any other moment, he might have begged Dean to stay focused on what was happening. But not right now. Not when he didn't want to face any of it. He allowed Dean to nibble and lightly bite down his neck to his bare chest. It all came with the gesture of possession and dominion-no pun intended.

"Mine," Dean murmured accordingly at the shell of Castiel's ear. He pulled away and Castiel caught the glint in his dark eyes as he kissed a trail down Castiel's body, pressing a palm down on Castiel's abdomen to keep him flat as he began to arch. A silent plea for him to keep still as he settled himself between Castiel's legs.

Castiel grasped the short strands of Dean's hair just as he felt Dean shift below, tongue flicking out as it slicked across a thick ring of muscles. Castiel couldn't help the moan that sprang from his lips. Dean's hands curled under knees, lifting Castiel slightly off the bed. Too low for Castiel to hold anymore, he grasped the sheets instead, fisting his hands through the fabric, threatening to rip through it. And still he felt Dean's tongue continue it's relentless abuse. He arched his neck back when Dean's slipped all the way inside, his tongue rolling with warmth that Castiel was all too familiar with.

When he pulled away, Dean spread Castiel's legs further to wrap and rest on his waist as he sat up on his calves and adjusted himself, his eyes on Castiel's face the entire time as he slowly sheathed inside fully. Castiel arched at the contact. He let out a soft cry. It wasn't the first time he felt it, and yet the restriction of Dean's clothing remaining on was a bother. He moved to sit up and remove that restriction but Dean caught his wrists.

He pushed Castiel back down to flatten on the bed. "Patience."

"Dean," Castiel growled when Dean released him, reaching forward to grasp his elbows just as Dean's hips began to thrust and Castiel grunted, his eye twitching just slightly in a close as Dean began to move, slow and building momentum as he adjusted.

All the while Castiel's hand moved. The feeling had not lost it's charm to Castiel. He gripped Dean's elbow to pull the demon closer and felt the resistance in Dean's body. The answering response being to grind harder, faster.. Castiel ground his teeth in frustration. There was no light in this place, courtesy of Dean. He could not _see_ him. And that was enough to vex him further. Castiel snapped his neck back and a slip of power had the lights flip on, four lamps in all corners with a brief red light before the lamps shattered, sparks flying everywhere. And yet his unconscious trigger of power had the faint red illumination stay.

Castiel called his name again, this time lower and more guttural. His grip on Dean tightened the higher it went, and at a particularly hard grind from Dean, Castiel hand curled in on Dean's shoulder, pulling the jacket and tank until they strayed off down his arm. There was a faint red glow just before the skin underneath him became heated as though instinctively fighting off the grip and foreign presence just as some of Castiel's grace slipped inside. Castiel pulled away just as Dean stopped, still sheathed inside and shifted his gaze to the reddened shoulder.

At first he thought the demon angry. Dean certainly stared at the mark long enough. He freed his hand from gripping Castiel's hip and ran his palm over the handprint. He didn't know what it felt like to him, inside and out. Dean had absolved Grace over the course of his life from many angels that had fallen dead before him. He could always feel it in Dean. He was unlike any other demon in that the Grace never burnt out when he took it. It always just added to his power.

"Are you..." Castiel began, trailing off just as Dean swooped downward and took Castiel's lips in a way that made him feel like Dean was ready to devour him.

"Marking territory?" Dean muttered, an amused smile playing on his face that he covered in the act of biting Castiel's neck with sharp teeth,

"Always," Castiel answered. just as Dean pulled back to look at him in the dim red light.

"You're going to pay for that," Dean growled, grinding hard.

Castiel grunted from the movement, his hand retracing the fresh handprint on Dean's shoulder. He saw with immense satisfaction that the skin he had marked had no sign of the black veins that covered every other inch of Dean.

"Somehow...I don't feel like I'll be regretful anytime soon," said Castiel, not bothering to keep his smug expression hidden.

Dean growled, smiling faintly as he covered Castiel's parted lips once again.


	6. Bring Down The Sky

**Seattle**

* * *

><p>"Easy," said Balthazar, his eyes on the patrons. Several were looking their way. It was like something had possessed them. There was an eerie, hungry sort of expression mirrored in each face that disturbed Balthazar. Without looking at him, Balthazar's hand clamped down on Dante's elbow to keep him still. He didn't have to look directly at him to know that Dante had stiffened. He <em>always <em>loved a fight.

"This can be done without bloodshed, Dante," Balthazar told him in a rushed tones.

"You think so," said Dante coldly. In Balthazar's peripheral, he saw Dante sweep the bar as well.

Balthazar pulled him this time, off the chair and held up both of his hands in surrender. "Look...We mean you no harm. We're just passing through."

Before anyone could answer, it was the bartender behind the counter that spoke, shutting off the subtle music. It was not dance music or by any means upbeat before, but the silence was chilling. Every eye was on Dante.

"You're the one he's looking for. The one on the tv," said the bartender. He was a large-set man who was balding. What scant hair he had was slicked back, not effectively covering his receding hairline. He had paused in the middle of wiping a shot glass when the TV went blank, and he, like everyone else was looking at Dante. "You...You..."

"You killed them!" a woman cried in strangled tones from her barstool. "You killed them all! You let him die!"

"You killed our president!" Someone else shouted. Yells and jeers of agreement.

"Did I? I don't think I look like that moron on the telly," Dante growled.

"It's his fault! Kill him!"

More jeers. Dante reacted instantly, a hand up and flat against the air as if he was touching an invisible wall. Everything seemed to slow. The faces of the angry bar patrons frozen as they charged him. What was the plan? Tackle and pummel?

Balthazar found he could still move. It was a time spell, a very basic one that slowed everything down temporarily. He thought Dante was going to use it to escape, but the Fallen made no move for the door, nor did his demon. In fact, Crowley could move as well, moving and sifting through the bar towards them, careful not to make contact with anyone.

"What are you doing?" Balthazar asked him at last, looking around them at all. Several people had prepared to throw their full or half-empty beer bottles in Dante's direction. Time had slowed them, but that doesn't mean they wouldn't still make contact if Dante didn't move.

"I recommend we leave," said Crowley, placing his hand on Dante's shoulder. With two restraints, Dante looked to his left at Crowley then to his right at Balthazar, expression not changing.

"I don't run," said Dante simply.

Crowley's grip tightened, his knuckles turning white. "_You_ don't have the strength."

Dante wrenched from their grip, spread both his arms eagle. Balthazar and Crowley were thrown off their feet. Crowley collapsed into a nearby table and Balthazar hit the wall high, six feet until he slid down. It wasn't painful, but the wind spell knocked the breath out of him.

"Gentlemen, I appreciate your concern, but it is not necessary," said Dante in rather polite tones. The time spell broke. Dante became a blur among the humans, flashing like a massive smoke shadow that whirled through the crowd. All Balthazar could really see was the occasional flash of steel as Dante cut them down one by one.

"Dante!" Balthazar called. Even with enhanced sight, even with all the power he could muster, he couldn't see him. The term Shadowalker was not just for show and it was not just because his favorite color was black and because he could create crawler. It was because he _was_ a shadow. Blood splattered the walls, the tables as they overturned. He mutilated their bodies, cut through their stomach, their chest. Each strike was precise and deadly.

"Dante! Stop!" Balthazar cried. But his "friend" could no longer hear him, and even if he had...what difference did that make?

The blood splashed across his face, his neck, his arms...until the whole bar became a mass of red so thick that it seemed like the scarlet was the new chosen paint color on the walls.

It took less than one minute and Dante had quite literally created a bloodbath before Balthazar and Crowley both had time to stand up fully. And there was Dante above the lone survivor. The bartender that had spoken out the first time had the mass shadow standing before him.

Dante had extended both wings, his sword held loose in his hand. And yet he was panting. Balthazar tried to ignore the blood and gore around him to focus on Dante. He didn't have to look far for the wound that had made Balthazar smell angelic blood on him earlier. His right wing was bleeding through with a long two foot gash running vertical where it bled and bled. Why hadn't he healed it?

And yet it was obvious that this wound was the one that had caused him to be so out of breath and tired.

Dante had enough strength then to hold up the end of the sword to the bartender's throat.

"Give me a reason why I should let you live. If you're creative, I might feel generous," Even his tone sounded out of breath.

"Dante, you don't have to do this," said Balthazar.

"It's done," said Dante impatiently, not looking away from his prey.

"You can do better..Please, Dante. Don't lower yourself to the nature of a Fallen just because you are one," said Balthazar. That got an incredulous look from Crowley who had a hand on a chair to steady himself, clearly suffering from minor irritations from the fall.

"This is not me acting out as a Fallen. This is survival," said Dante. His grip tightened on the hilt of his sword and he actually winced this time as if even that minor show of strength was hurting him.

"Who are you?" The bartender breathed. "_What_ are you people?"

"My name is Shadowalker," Dante replied.

"Dante," said Balthazar, stepping over the puddles of blood he could find to hold onto him. The entire time Dante had created this massacre, he gave no time for anyone to see him, no time for anyone to scream or cry out. Bodies were toppled over on tables and chairs, littering the floor like discarded trash. He was pretty sure nearby places were still disturbed by any source of noise... someone was bound to come in some time.

And he really didn't want to witness anyone else dying by Dante's hand. Dante was right. He was doing things that Balthazar couldn't. Moral code or not. This was wrong. How did this make him any different from the one hunting him down?

The answer to that? There was almost no difference. One was a different evil, but an evil nonetheless. They were more alike then they knew.

But it was not the Dante he knew. The Dante that didn't have Shadowalker attached to his name. Not the Dante that played with him as a fledgling. Not the Dante who walked with him on his way to becoming one of the warriors of Heaven. It had been so long since he remembered that Dante. That Dante. Looking at him since he had taken on that title...he hardly recognized him.

"Please don't kill me," His victim begged. "I'm sorry. I won't tell anyone I saw you. Please don't hurt me."

"Beg me. Tell me you're sorry on behalf of all the dead," said Dante, lazily gesturing to bar as a whole.

"Please. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," He pleaded. Dante didn't even cast a spell on him, and yet the sheer trauma of it all had him collapse to his knees and grab a hold of Dante's waist on both sides. "Please. Please. Please."

"Tell me you don't want to die," said Dante, running his free hand over the man's head, carding fingers through his hair in an obscene gesture of gentility.

"I don't want to die,"

"Dante, enough," Balthazar snarled, his grip on Dante's arm became punishing. "We have to leave. Now."

"I'm not finished," said Dante, pulling away from Balthazar. "Really, Balthazar. You should know better. I can bring down the sky on Seattle with a thought if I felt so inclined...and you're _very_ fortunate it hasn't come to that."

"Maybe if you were at full power," Crowley grunted.

"You're done _now_. Look," said Balthazar, pointing outside where several pedestrians had stopped, eyes on the inside. When they caught Balthazar and Dante looking, some moved away. But most hadn't. There was a whole crowd beginning to form. Mouths covered. And then Balthazar heard someone's muted scream.

"Huh," said Dante, regarding that as interesting.

"They're going to call the cops," said Balthazar, annoyed.

"Let them," said Dante, and he released the man. "You're in luck. I _am_ feeling generous."

"You're feeling nothing," said Crowley through his teeth. "You keep using your power, you're going to burn yourself out. The stupid celestial is right. We should leave. We should never have come here. The Order of Tarana is searching for you. They'll stop at nothing."

"I am not scared of a bunch of demons in monks clothing," Dante snapped. "But if you two are insistent, then let's go."

He whipped around. And even though the movement was swift, Balthazar could have sworn he saw his entire frame tremble just a little from the effort. He walked straight to the door, uncaring of the bodies he stepped on, of the blood that stuck to his feet and the upturned furniture and broken glass. He sheathed his sword behind him just as Balthazar and Crowley followed.

As soon as he cleared the entrance to the bar, the pedestrians screamed at the sight of all three of them in all their blood splashed state. Dante and Crowley remained calm, with the demon sticking very close to his Fallen master's side. It seemed only Balthazar was the only one who seemed remotely concerned for the situation.

Dante removed a cigarette from a nearly empty pack and lit the end, the smell of burning tobacco filling in a cloud around them as he blew out smoke on the next exhale.

"We have to find a location to stay in. Lay low for the next days," said Balthazar.

"Mm," said Dante, turning and beginning to walk down the street. Each step was sticky and wet from what he had just walked through. "So that I can face an end at Dean Winchester's hand after the three days are over. Tell me, Balthazar. Are you planning on selling me out to the King?"

"Why would I do that?" Balthazar retorted.

"I don't know," said Dante coldly. "You were his ally before."

"I was Castiel's ally. Castiel is my brother and I love him. The life of Dean Winchester would not be important to me...but I have to save him," said Balthazar.

Crowley gawked much more openly at Balthazar than Dante. "That's a paradox."

"I promised someone," said Balthazar.

"Promises break," Dante pointed out. "Forget your promise."

Balthazar glowered. "That's not likely. Do you know any safe locations nearby we can go to?"

"Heh. Safe. Do you?" Dante retorted.

" Not nearby," said Balthazar.

"We were on our way to one," said Crowley rather venomously, glaring at Dante's retreating back. "Until we got sidetracked trying to find you. Dante was convinced we needed your help."

"I wouldn't regard the location as...'safe'...but whatever you want to call it. It's out of the way," Dante amended.

"Well, can we head there now?"

Dante stopped abruptly, passing under a street lamp. Balthazar nearly bumped into him. The street was empty of passing cars and there were several large buildings with their lights still on. Balthazar heard distant sirens and knew that the police were on approach to where they had just been.

"Why are we stopping?" Crowley snapped.

Dante didn't answer him. He reached behind him and clutched the hilt of his sword, pulling it out for the second time tonight. It was still dripping blood. So much so that it looked like the blade had been painted that color.

"You think the darkness is your friend? I was _born_ in the darkness. My whole existence was shaped by it. So do me the favor...and SHOW YOURSELF," Dante's voice shot up three octaves from a whisper and he pointed his sword to the darkness of the street in front of him.

"I found you,"said a quiet voice behind him. All three of them turned around. Balthazar's hand immediately went to his own weapon at his waist. There stood a figure in shadow, but some light touched it yet. A figure in brown robes, covering all of his body with his hood drawn.

"I found you, Shadowalker," The creature said again. "You have not attempted to hide your presence...as he predicted. Your power came to me like a song...and I knew I could not resist coming here to see for myself."

Dante's sword lowered and he smiled. "Is that a fact?"

The creature raised a bony finger towards them, pointing directly at the right wing that Dante had tucked behind him. "Your injury is grave. It does not heal. You are forever marked by the one who will kill you. "

"So confident. This is a trilogy. The third one...all bets are off. What makes you so sure that _I'm_ the one going to die?" Dante countered sardonically. He saw Balthazar and Crowley gawking at him and shrugged his shoulders. "What?"

The creature ignored his snide comment, stepped closer. There was a faint look of stitches on that robe he wore...and Dante recognized it instantly, his eye twitching. Perfect composure beginning to crumble.

"So you're from the Order of Tarana. You came fast. I was expecting some time before you caught up. Or are you just better than your comrades?" Dante asked genially.

"I am not here to kill you, Shadowalker. His Majesty will be the one to execute you. He is not pleased with you. Your methods of survival that have saved you thus far are useless now. He will find you. And he will destroy you...in three days."

Dante gave a long pause, raising two fingers to his lips. "You know...Those activation sites your foolish order managed to activate...They were a failsafe. It's not about _power._ Lucifer sent his power into the vessel of Sam Winchester so that in the event of his death, he would rise again. Likewise, Dean Winchester created these activation sites all over after becoming Law...so again, in the event of his own demise, he would come back and full or more power. This is about survival. Making it to the next moment, proving to the world that the natural balance is a farce. Your leader should know better than to screw around with fate."

"But then again, if we were all where we were supposed to be...I'd be dead already...too...but hey, that doesn't give _him_ a freebie," said Dante, holding up his weapon. "Show me your face. I want to see your eyes as I take your life."_  
><em>

He chuckled, low, head bowing so that his chin and lips were very briefly hidden. "My life..."

But he obliged, raising both hands to his face and pulling the hood off completely. As expected, he looked like a completely normal human just like the rest of them. Short brown hair with dark eyes and a build of a thirty to thirty-five year old man. And yet this man was dead, that was clear. He had died in Manhattan.

"Human meats are not very flexible," He spoke conversationally. "Did you notice that...in your own confines?"

Nobody answered him, so the demon smiled. Slowly he reached behind his head, his fingers curling slowly.

Dante could almost predict what was going to happen next, following that strange statement. The demon cut into the skin stretched at the back of his skull. It didn't take him long to draw blood, cutting ten long gashes from the back to the front as he came to stop to his forehead, bending over. His face was covered by hands and he cried out.

Balthazar backed away a step, grabbing Dante as he did. But Dante was still, his head slightly raised as he watched.

The demon pulled his hands away, and it was not the same face as before that looked back at them. As he began to stand upright again, his height seemed to have doubled, towering twelve feet over them, gold waves of power rising off him. His robes ripped through as his chest started to enlarge. His facial skin had been pulled completely off, revealing the red, muscle texture underneath atop the skeleton. Except it was not human. Not even remotely. His entire mouth stretched across his cheeks, lined with sharp razor teeth. His hands, his feet elongated, fingernails becoming long and claw-like.

"Run!" Balthazar called, and this time he didn't allow Dante to stay standing this time, pulling him, he turned and began to run. Just behind him the Tarana demon raised a finger above himself, the tip glowing orange, shooting a thin beam towards the sky. Something heated in the air around them and a sound came like bees buzzing . Balthazar knew the feeling this time. He felt it in Treachery when he first walked upon its grounds. This was an anti-magic barrier. How far it stretched, how big it was was difficult to discern. He watched the dome like energy build over them, shining briefly in the sky before disappearing altogether. At the same time, Balthazar felt his sword disappear from his waist, unable to be called through Will and he felt Dante's disappear as well.

Already he felt his power shift inside of him, mute almost completely. Balthazar half-dragged Dante with him, running alongside Crowley as he did. He didn't want to look back, and yet he could hear the heavy footfalls that quaked the ground at every step the demon took. He was gaining on them.

"Come on! We have to find the part where the barrier ends!" Balthazar cried out, letting Dante go and taking lead. He kept running, past incoming cars that the demon managed to toss aside as though they were as light as a feather. The power he had felt coming from the demon before the barrier was erected was so massive. And this was only _one_ of them.

It took Balthazar a moment to realize that he was no longer being followed. He stopped in the middle of a crowded sidewalk outside of a lavish-looking hotel and turned behind him, seeing that Dante had lagged behind, running slower. The end of the barrier was just ahead. Apparently the demon did not have the power to maintain the anti-magic field for long, and it was shrinking in size. This worked to their advantage...at least for now. But Dante...Dante was lagging.. It wasn't because he was truly slower in speed...it was because he was exhausted, already. The Tarana demon was catching up to Crowley and himself fast. And though Crowley had Dante's arm over his shoulder, it was doing nothing to speed them up.

The Tarana demon was right. His injury was too much and it was only getting worse. Balthazar didn't dwell on that thought. He ran back for him just as the Tarana demon caught up, caught Dante's retreating back with a huge hand and stabbed four fingers into his shoulder where he pulled strips of Dante's clothing and something white and red that looked disturbingly like...

Skin.

Dante didn't scream, but his demon acted fast. Crowley shoved Dante to the side let him collapse on that injured shoulder, sliding in Dante's place as the Tarana demon made for another slash.

"Crowley!' Dante cried out just as the beast picked Crowley up , took a hold of both of his elbows in a tight grip and began to stretch him eagle-spread to the limit he could be pulled.

"I do not wish to kill you, Shadowalker...," The Tarana Demon spoke in an oddly gentle voice. Incredible that he _could_ speak at all through those teeth. "I merely wish to rob you of your incentive."

"NO!" Dante lunged, but Balthazar grabbed him around the shoulders and dragged him back a few feet.

Crowley's mouth filled with blood, but he managed to look upon Dante through watery eyes. One word, barely heard through a whisper. "Run."

Their eyes locked just as more blood formed and the cloth of Crowley's garments began to rip from the strain. Dante's head shook just the slightest.

"Leave him! We have to go! NOW!" Balthazar called in Dante's ear, and he wrenched the Fallen up and dragged him again. He smelled the blood that was everywhere. More than just the simple tear in his wing. This time the resistance was truly hard to break through. Dante fought Balthazar tooth and nail. He heard screams as people saw the creature towering them on the sidewalk and began to run away. Balthazar took off again and this time he saw the barrier shine right in front of him.

Balthazar released all of Dante this time and took only his palm. He felt it wet with Dante's blood. Dark, nearly black, filling on his palm like a stream. Dante wasn't going to last long. But if he could_ just_ make it past the barrier...

To his amazement, when next he looked, he felt the ground tremble again. The Tarana demon had either discarded of Crowley or killed him, because he was on them again, causing the concrete and ground to dent with every step. Balthazar pushed Dante through when he was close enough and jumped through himself, collapsing on top of him where he wasted no time in pressing his hand over Dante's shoulder and began to close the wound himself with a rush of Immortal Grace connecting the two of them together.

The tainted Grace Dante had immediately repelled the celestial Grace that Balthazar gave it. But he closed his eyes and concentrated with all of his might and his own Grace overwhelmed Dante's. Grace was like a sentient substance sometimes. Why not, when it literally represented the equivalent of a soul? His Grace started cleaning up the wound.

The Tarana Demon's footsteps became louder and louder as he broke through the barrier himself, plucking Balthazar off and away from Dante by the throat where he proceeded to squeeze and squeeze. But he pulled Balthazar towards himself and the flat pair of holes that might have passed for a nose sniffed at his throat. Smelling the Grace that circulated through Balthazar no doubt. He couldn't resist that.

His mouth opened, exposing those disgustingly sharp canines even more. He lowered his jaw towards the stretched muscles on Balthazar's neck. Balthazar grunted, unable to move much even as he held the demon's arms. His hold was nothing, even with his power of Grace and Will returned to him. The demon's strength was too much. He simply closed his eyes and waited for the inevitable.

"Hey you," called Dante behind him just as the demon's teeth were an inch away from his skin. His sword had returned to him, held vertical over his arm. Dante closed his eyes in concentration and black mist pooled around the demon's feet. It must have caused him pain or some sensation because he released Balthazar on instinct and his long claws clutched around his head.

Dante vanished with a swirl of black smoke, reappearing above the demon's head where he plunged his sword into the top of his back. His feet landed neatly on each shoulder. Dante wrenched the sword free, pulled his neck back and slashed through the demon's eyes. The demon screamed and roared in agony, his screams drowning out almost all sound.

"A message for you to deliver," Dante spoke as though he were speaking to a lover. He knelt down and lowered his lips to the demon's ear. Through the screams, Balthazar would be surprised if he processed anything at all.

Dante jumped off him, landing before Balthazar just as the demon crumpled. But through his fingers, he growled at them, growled and spit and cursed in a demonic tongue that Balthazar could not understand.

"You lose this round," said Balthazar smugly. And for what seemed to be the upteenth time tonight, he grabbed Dante, wings extending and wrapping around the two of them as he disappeared.


	7. The Dark Manor

**Rose Manor**

* * *

><p>Balthazar felt them whirl and whirl in the air. The scene in Seattle melted around them and both Dante and himself hit the ground elsewhere. Balthazar had moved them at the speed of light, and while he was very much used to it, Dante was not. Perhaps he had not taken flight in some time or his power to maneuver stemmed from something different than what Balthazar used.<p>

Or perhaps it was that injury. He got up first and resisted the temptation to help Dante up and instead looked at their surroundings. He had been here once before, over ten years ago. And the place looked vastly different from how he remembered. Rose Manor looked haunted. It was once the most prominent mansion in Paradise Rock. Now the white paint had faded from gray to black. The gates were left open and slightly bent out of shape where Dante and Balthazar had landed. The windows were grayed out as well, faint films of dust covering the glass.

"Where are we?" Dante had pulled himself up as well and gripped the gate, keeping it from swinging and dragging him along as he used it for support. He hadn't even looked up at the manor itself.

"You should know. You've been here," said Balthazar with a slight bite to his tone. This manor was given to the demon Lilith as a gift from her "brother", Dean. But before that, it was a manor under the wealthy archaeologist, Dominic Gunn. It was here that Castiel was sent on a mission that he completely and utterly forgot later on, thanks to Dean being here as well. It was the place where Dominion broke.

Dante glanced up at that comment and eyed the mansion. "This is where you decide to bring us?"

"It was the spur of the moment decision. I wanted somewhere quiet and...reserved so we could stop. I could only assume after everything this place has been through, it would be abandoned. Good thing I counted on my intuition," said Balthazar, frowning at Dante.

Dante blinked slowly and released the gate to stagger towards it. "There's a dark taint in this place."

Balthazar was instantly alert by his side, hand on the hilt of his sword. "Who is it?"

Dante closed his eyes and rolled them, looking sideways at Balthazar." I didn't say it was a person...or persons...It's a taint. It's residual...It's been building for quite some time. No wonder this place has been left untouched. Even the humans can probably detect it."

"How did it get here?" Balthazar wondered.

"How do you think? After all that's happened here, I'm not surprised," said Dante coolly. "Heh."

"Well, is it safe for us to go in?" Balthazar asked. "I wouldn't have chosen this place had I known."

"For me...I don't know about you. I wouldn't sleep anywhere for sure," said Dante.

"I don't require sleep," Balthazar answered him.

"Lucky for you," said Dante.

"Come on, let's go," said Balthazar, stepping past him and doing what he originally planned, just hoping it came out smoother. He paused and looked back at Dante with a slightly worried look. "Do you need help?"

"No," said Dante pointedly, releasing the gate with some effort and following Balthazar in step. He looked paler than usual. Like the fight with the demon in Seattle had exhausted him. And maybe it had, but it should not have been doing that, especially since he had healed Dante once they cleared the barrier.

But the demon had taunted them, spoke of a wound that would not heal on Dante. It was why he could not run, could not really make flight, not without great fatigue. It was killing him, slowly.

"What caused that wound on your wing?" Balthazar asked. "And why didn't it heal when I healed you?"

"Because it's a gift from Dean," said Dante coldly.

"So it doesn't heal?"

"No," said Dante, reaching the front door first and nearly collapsing against a white pillar that was decoratively placed on either side of the entrance.

"Is it...," Balthazar trailed off, thinking it was better not to delve into it. He had a feeling he really didn't want to hear it. It probably didn't help their current situation in anyway.

Instead, he looked at the door itself and found that the door was just slightly ajar. The entrance hall was still grand but it still had evidence of the battle that had taken place here. Merrick and Lilith had fought Uriel and himself here and he had bested them at the cost of Uriel's life. The commanding officer at the time was Raphael who had ordered both demons alive after capture, only to kill them later on in front of Dean in vicious act of sadism.

Before that, the mission for the Scripture and where Dominion broke, Balthazar honestly couldn't account for all that.

Dante hadn't been wrong, though. There _was_ a dark taint here. Not quite a presence. He could feel no life. It was simply as if the place had been touched by darkness in the time it had been left without occupancy. Or perhaps it was _because_ of the history that occurred here, that it felt this way.

He stepped into the entrance hall and looked around, looked up the long stairwell that went to both east and west wings, and eyed the broken furniture and cracked floor. This place was beautiful not too long ago. And Balthazar may not have appreciated such beauty in man-made architecture before, but it was different now. And Balthazar actually lamented what was lost here.

Dante trudged past him and rested himself on the edge of the stairs where he flopped down, panting hard and clutching his chest. Really, it seemed like an infection was spreading. But when Balthazar was healing him, he could detect no affliction in the bloodstream. It was just that consistent bloodloss that was weakening him.

"For what it's worth," Balthazar spoke to his back. "I'm sorry about what happened back there with Crowley. I can only imagine the pain that you're going through."

Dante didn't even blink. He managed to shrug one shoulder with a slight wince. "You win some, you lose some. It happens all the time."

Balthazar raised an eyebrow. " I honestly think they say that about baseball cards. Not about demons. You don't have to act tough, Dante. There's no one around to call you out on it. You should know me better."

"Demons are slaves, Balthazar. That's what they were born to be. Why do you think time and time again, Fallen and Demon have been at war? They were built to be our servants. If they die, oh well, you make another one," said Dante dismissively.

"I don't even think you have the _strength_ to make another demon," said Balthazar.

"Considering my first one hasn't died just yet," said Dante with the merest flicker of a smile up at Balthazar. "You jump too quickly to your conclusions, old friend. Crowley isn't dead yet. Weren't you listening to that troll in Seattle? He wasn't there to kill me, he was there to...as he put it, 'rob me of my incentive'. The idea was to capture Crowley or perhaps to capture...you."

"Me?" Balthazar stared, alarmed.

"Whatever incentive I need to go to DC personally," said Dante, bring one foot up and beginning to pull off his boots one at a time with much strain.

"Then why would it be me?" Balthazar gave a dry scoff. "You would never go out of you way for anyone, least of all me."

Dante's eyes gleamed rather coldly. "They...don't know that."

"So you _don't_ plan on making a trip to Washington D.C to confront Dean?"

Dante pulled the last boot off and kicked his shoes far away from him in annoyed fashion, then peered up at Balthazar. "I'm _going_ to kill Dean, Balthazar. And I'm going to kill Castiel. It's just a matter of time. Doesn't that conflict with your desire to save him?"

"I don't think you're going to kill anyone in your state and didn't you mention that if you wanted them dead, they would be? What happened to staying away?"

"Yeah, see that was before my demon got captured...and that was before this wound started to pain me to the point of slow decay," said Dante. "And since he has quite literally turned this entire planet upside down in an attempt to have me killed..," Dante trailed off as if no more needed to be said on the matter. "But it may not be today...or maybe tomorrow...but I will...I have plenty more incentive to do it than Crowley's capture, trust me."

"Dante, you said you could stop Dean...I meant for this to mean...stop. Not kill. If I have to do this alone, I will,"

"You honestly think he won't kill you the second he sees you?" It was Dante's turn to scoff as he flattened both feet on the stair step. "You're a celestial. You're meat. That's all you are to a demon."

"I need to find Castiel," said Balthazar. " Castiel is another fragment. If anyone can reach out to Dean...He can."

"Castiel," Dante repeated, amused. "Castiel would never abandon Dean, no matter what choices he makes. If he kills us all, you can bet on his angel sticking by him to the very end."

"Castiel is-"

"Naive. Trusting. Compassionate. Everything Dean and I are...heh..not," said Dante coolly. "Wrathful, to a point. But he's not like us. He's Compassion, after all. That would make him the weakest."

"He can help save Dean," said Balthazar.

" Listen to me, Balthazar. Every one of us...Dean, Castiel...Myself. We were each given two fragments from Dominion each. It divided evenly that way. Each of our fragments represent us differently. Call one a fragment of Dominion's personality. Call another a fragment of Dominion's power. He became sentient after all."

Balthazar approached and came to sit right next to Dante on the stair step. "So you're saying that...Memory...Compassion. These are personality fragments...and the others like Law and...Havoc, they're not?"

"Memory, Compassion...Despair," Dante paused on the last one for a moment and Balthazar knew why. Despair was him, after all. "Yes, those are fragments of Dominion's personality. Law, Retribution, Havoc...These are just power fragments. What separates us from the next demon and Fallen, you could say."

Funny how he was Despair. Considering he knew Dante well, what had happened to him to make him despair so? Didn't they all have something to despair for? Dean, more so than the others.

Or at least, that's what he thought. What did Dante despair? Falling into Treachery? Losing his place in Heaven?

As always, Balthazar voiced his thought out loud rather than keep it in. "What makes you Despair, Dante? I have...I have known you so very long. I used to think I knew you better than yourself...but you changed. You changed so swiftly. One minute, you were there, the next moment, you're gone. Literally...I don't forget, Dante. I don't forget our last meeting before all this mess. It's like you barely recognized me."

Balthazar leaned forward, raising his knees up and placing his elbows there where he covered his face. "If I had known what it was. If you would have only told me...perhaps all this could have been avoided."

Dante was staring straight ahead where Balthazar could not see. Lost in memory, perhaps like Balthazar had been. "There was nothing you could have done. Nothing you could have said. It was too late...even then."

Balthazar raised his head to look at him with sad eyes. "Dante."

"What's done is done, Balthazar. No one can change the past. No matter how hard you wish it," said Dante firmly.

"We can change the present. That's why I want to save Dean...Get out of this mess with Dominion's fragments," said Balthazar. He took Dante's hand as it rested on his raised thigh. "You were my closest friend, Dante. Can't we just go back to what it was?"

Dante's fingers closed on his very briefly, but he continued to stare ahead. "There is no going back. We can't remove Dominion's fragments without dying ourselves. It is death...or nothing."

"I don't want it to be like that," said Balthazar.

Dante smirked. "Who does."

And he released Balthazar then, standing up and taking a step up on the stairs. "I'm going to rest for a bit. My wound continues to pain me. That makes it imperative that you stay awake, Balthazar. "

"You know how to navigate the place?" said Balthazar, getting up and moving to follow him. He didn't really feel comfortable leaving Dante by himself. The injury was only going to get worse and he honestly felt like if an army of Tarana demons showed up on their doorstep, it was going to be over before it even started. At the same time, Balthazar didn't want to use Dante for his battle prowess alone.

And yet there was no denying, even injured, he was still a much more capable Will user and fighter than he was.

There was a dark taint here, and while Dante prided himself on being a shadow and being one with the darkness, maybe it wouldn't effect him positively either.

"Of course," said Dante, waving a dismissive hand. "This place is like a second home to me."

* * *

><p><strong>Hell, 1st Circle- P.R.I.D.E<strong>

* * *

><p>"Dean, I'm about to get pruney here," Castiel complained lightly as the demon hugged him from behind. True to his word indeed, Dean had Castiel "pay" for that handprint he left on his shoulder. Still very red and raw even as it was under hot water from the shower in Dean's bedroom.<p>

The bathroom steamed over when the water made contact with Dean's heated skin as he wrapped his arms around Castiel and squeezed.

"I'm surprised you even know what the word pruney means...or that you can even get it," said Dean, biting on Castiel's shoulder.

"I'm well informed," said Castiel coolly. " I thought you were getting dressed."

"Why would I do that...when you're naked?" Dean countered, pressing his lips very lightly to a soft patch of wet skin.

"Dean...I'm showering," Castiel murmured, but he leaned towards Dean's warmth anyway. He was certainly warmer than the water itself...and he was a decent conduit to keep the water nice and hot.

"Are you complaining?" Dean's voice was sharp and he turned Castiel around, pulled him close by the wrists until their chests flushed and Castiel felt Dean's heat even more so. Below he could feel his body's reaction to Dean instantly and just as Dean pulled him in for a kiss, Castiel groaned.

"Dean," He said, almost disapprovingly, pulling away from the kiss very reluctantly even as his lips made to chase Dean's. "Are you hoping to test the stamina of an angel?"

"Always," Dean grunted with a hard grind, pushing Castiel against the cold tile which made him shiver as Dean kissed him again.

There was a knock on the door that prevented them from doing anything more. Castiel went still against Dean's mouth, but Dean kept moving, hands splayed out on the tile on either side of him.

"Dean," He said with what little of his mouth he could use.

Dean growled, turning his cheek so Castiel got a full view of the black veins stretching down his neck to his heart. Still disturbing, and yet after being intimate with Dean, he found he was getting used to it.

"Go ahead," said Castiel. "I might actually get clean this time."

"Don't get used to it," Dean replied in that same gravelly tone as he pulled away fully and stepped outside the shower. This time he spoke loudly and in his normal voice, still intoned by that beast-like quality that Castiel noted from before. Maybe he was getting used to that too.

"What do you want?" Dean asked, and not very kindly.

"Your Majesty, Chimera has returned," said the demon outside. He sounded further than expected and that was because he was outside Dean's room, not within. Only the King himself, his demons or his Guardians were permitted to enter.

Dean pulled a silky black robe with gold threading off the hook on the door and slipped it on. "What...are we taking attendance, now? I don't care."

"He has something, Your Majesty. But he is injured. We have him in the new location. He says it is something you'll want to see for yourself," said the demon.

Dean scowled and turned his head in Castiel's direction. "Not the first time I've heard that bit."

"Do you need me?" Castiel asked, pausing in the act of running his hands through his hair.

"No," said Dean. "It's probably soap or something."

"Soap...," Castiel chuckled. "Do your demons not remember how to bathe from their human lives?"

"They remember," Dean conceded. "Doesn't mean they do it."

Castiel stared at Dean's back for a long moment, simply contemplating. But it was Dean's black and "veiny" condition that concerned Castiel in that moment. That show of darkness was only getting worse...Chicago was a testament to his new ruthless nature and then killing the president on live television and calling out Dante...Castiel found himself trying very much not to think about it all. Especially in these moments where it was just Dean and him. He could ignore the show of darkness that made it seem like the demon he once knew was buried deep inside.

At least, for the most part.

"Dean...What we're doing...It's all right, isn't it?"

Dean slowly turned to face him. "Angel..."

"I'm just saying," said Castiel, holding up his hands for a moment, then turning off the faucet so the water no longer ran over him. "I'm sorry...It's becoming bothersome, I know...All this though. It feels like it's still too much."

Dean drew close to him, stepped over the wet floor where he splashed slightly with his bare feet. "Angel...Come on. Of course we're doing the right thing. We're the good guys, remember? Stop torturing yourself with this...moral line you keep thinking you're crossing. You're going to be fine. _We're_ going to be fine."

"Of course, you're right," said Castiel, sighing, patting Dean's shoulder as the demon came close and kissed down his neck where he suckled on the prominent vein there. He chuckled. "Dean."

"Fine. I'm going," said Dean, pulling away again. "I'll be back. You can sleep if you want. I'll be back soon."

"All right," said Castiel.

Dean walked back into the bedroom where he eyed the garments he had tossed aside. He removed the robe and pulled each item of black clothing on one by one, not bothering to fully dry his hair or his body. He instead walked outside the door where the demon was waiting for him. Not a Tarana demon. Just a normal Imperial who continued to kneel, his hand over his heart.

The demon stood up after a moment as Dean adjusted the collar of his jacket. Dean's face darkened into a scowl. "That's the third time Castiel has placed doubt in my actions. Third time."

The demon made no expression and Dean turned to face him fully. "This had better be worth the interruption. What did Chimera find?"

"You'll see," said the demon, beginning to lead Dean down the hall. "I'm very confident it will please you very much, Your Majesty."

Dean sighed. "Unless it's Dante's head on a stake...I'm very much not interested."

The demon said nothing, but a small smile began to show as he led Dean back into the throne room. There stood Chimera...in a pathetic state. Not only had he discarded of his human disguise, he was injured. The robes he had his army wear was ripped and bloodied, all the blood coming down from a pair of holes in his face where his eyes had been. It would have been a disgusting sight to anyone, especially since he had pulled the human skin on his face off and the injury seemed almost ten times more magnified. Chimera was not alone, however, there was a kneeling body in front of him with it's face covered by a black pillow cover.

"Chimera," said Dean, sliding away from the Imperial Demon and moving to sit on the throne in the usual lazy layabout he always took with one knee raised on the seat and his knuckles tucked under his chin. "Exploration of the new terrain did not go well, I can see. What have you brought me?"

Aside from the snarky comment, he made no other concern on Chimera's condition. In fact, he showed more annoyance than actual care for his demon. Chimera was easily replaceable, after all.

"I think you will be pleased with my find, Lord Tarana," said Chimera.

"Yes, everyone keeps saying that," said Dean irritably. "Get. On. With. It."

Chimera pulled the black pillow cover off the victim's face and Dean found himself staring down at Crowley. Crowley looked grotesque because of the burns from Carmen long ago...and in Chicago, Dean had only seen these scars in passing. Now they looked very prominent. A permanent grimace while the other still looked like him. He was handsome once...and he resembled Shadowalker with those dark eyes.

But now that Chimera had decently probably beaten him before bringing him here, the burnt half of his face and body looked particularly gruelsome. There was cuts down his cheeks, slash marks from a dagger and beads of sweat coming from his hair, making it look sweat-ridden and slightly lanky.

"Oh, if it isn't my old Guardian," said Dean, clasping his hands together.

Crowley's eyes slowly raised from the throne up to the face. When he finally came to a stop on Dean's face, he too, smiled. Except his smile looked painful, and his cracked lips seemed to bleed.

"This is pleasing. Look at you, Crowley," said Dean, sitting up slightly. "Not looking so hot. Was the journey here so unpleasant?"

"I had no prior desire to return to Hell, so you can imagine not," Crowley answered him in a croaky voice.

"No, I would imagine going to place where you'd likely be executed on sight wouldn't be the first choice for a vacation," said Dean dryly.

"Your arrogance and attachment to the throne has increased, I see," said Crowley, eyeing him with disdain.

Dean extended his arms as though stating the obvious. "I'm King, Crowley. You were never a king. You were a sovereign. You had your time and it was disastrous."

"Disastrous, was it?" Crowley repeated, amused. "I brought order to your so-called...'throne'. Haven't you noticed that your entire bloodline...Lucifer...Yourself...Carmen. You lead our people to inevitable destruction? Especially you, Dean. Flaunt your crown if you must, all you've ever done is try to conquer everything else. You simply cannot stand being considered weak, so you systematically destroy everyone else. First it was the Fallen, then your own Father...and now Dante, and what? Humanity as a whole after? It's pathetic. It's useless...and it's a waste of time and resources."

"I would watch my tongue, Crowley," said Dean, rising off his seat in one sweep. "You speak in the presence of Dominion."

"Of...Of Dominion? _Sorry_ to break the news to you this way, Dean...But you are _not_ Dominion. You're a fragment. Dominion's dead," said Crowley, adjusting himself on his knees so he could raise his head a few inches. "You would know that best of all, _Memory._"

Dean groaned. "Ugh...You sound like Dante and it is disgusting. I have some use for you, though Crowley. You're in luck."

"I'm literally quivering with excitement right now," said Crowley, rolling one eye.

"You should be," said Dean, linking his fingers together. "I've got three days...well...Two and a half, now...until your maker comes through the front door."

He pointed to the door which Crowley followed his finger with a scowl. "What makes you think he's going to come to you? Voluntarily? He hates you. Didn't you make a sweet little broadcast just now so the humans could-"

"Oh, you and I both know that he's hard to deny of his real nature. That was just a game. But if I know Dante...like _you_ know Dante...then he'll be here on his own accord. I won't have to lift a finger to capture."

"You, on the other hand, Crowley...You're not so fortunate," said Dean, his eyes gleaming.

"Your Majesty, if you're going to kill me...Don't leave me in suspense...Just get on with it. This business of drawing out deaths is cliche...So...," said Crowley in a bored voice.

" You're not going to die right now, Crowley," said Dean, walking close until he came to a stop right in front of the other demon. He towered over him in a sinister manner. "You have a lot to inform me of...before you die."

"I'm not telling you anything," said Crowley venomously. "I don't owe you a damn thing. You're not my King. I owe you no loyalty."

Dean struck like a snake, both hands splayed on Crowley's head, which felt feverish under the touch. His fingertips felt the blaze of his skin, and he felt the sweat underneath. Dean rubbed his temples...gently...but not without implication of his threat. "What's inside your mind, what you know...is so very important to me. I do hope you're going to cooperate, Crowley...This is going to be _so_ much fun."


	8. Paradiso

**A/N: So after this small bit in the beginning, the next few chapters will be a short story within the story to provide some background. Just a heads up!**

Balthazar finished his exploration of the manor. He had only seen the entrance in his last encounter with it. When he was still a full-fledged Celestial Commander under Raphael. He dragged the bodies of Dean, Merrick and Lilith out of here under his orders only to watch two out of three of those demons die later on. The manor was huge...and very much abandoned. It had been in Lilith's care the last time he had seen it and she had adapted a very Egyptian design to it. Most of that was destroyed, and the ornaments left were covered in dust that Balthazar didn't bother to clear. He could have cleaned it all in a manner of minutes, but why bother? It almost seemed wrong to renovate it again...like it would tarnish Lilith's memory.

Balthazar sighed and settled himself atop a dusty bed inside of an empty bedroom. He covered his face with his hands. Look at him. He was worried about tarnishing the memory of a _demon. _Well, all things considered...Given everything that happened, you'd think he'd have lost his faith in all demons by now. But...lucky...or unluckily for him, he had seen firsthand that a demon could be good. Maybe not...lawfully good...but decent enough. Carmen was a good example. Even Lilith and Merrick, when they were alive...were not so bad.

Maybe he should have checked on Dante. That might be more productive. Being here...alone...made him think too much. On their current situation...on how many people had to die for them to be here. He had narrowly missed death himself. By all accounts, he should be dead too. But he wasn't...and he wasn't aligned with Heaven this time either. Never thought he'd be in that position. He wondered what that made him. He hadn't Fallen. His wings were still imbued with the power of Light from Heaven...but for how long? This was Zachariah's Grace after all.

Balthazar tuned into the link between Heaven and all of their warriors. It was quiet...which was unusual. Maybe his Link had broken? No, he'd feel that. It was literally quiet from Heaven's end...like they had stopped. Maybe they truly had given up on humanity...and yet it was Metatron who was running the entire garrison now. That wasn't likely even for her. Maybe if the legion was run by Raphael.

But you'd think there'd be some reports on the situation. You'd think at least some angels were curious and were asking about everything. But he didn't even hear that. He heard nothing at all. No one was reacting. No one was questioning. They all seemed to be in on something or simply uncaring. Dean was on the verge of the collapsing the world and Heaven had nothing to say on the matter. No orders to give. Nothing. Just what was Metatron planning?

He stopped short of Dante's bedroom, or the bedroom that he had taken upon himself to use.

The Fallen was resting on his side with his arms holding himself and his legs curled. Was he cold? He shivered in his sleep. Well, that's what you got for sleeping over the comforter rather than under it. Dante was not having a restful sleep so far, he had thrashed so much the sheets were wrapped around his form in a twisted manner. He was muttering, very low to himself, with words that Balthazar could not catch.

It was strange that he was so near the enemy at this moment. Dante was no longer the Dante he knew. That much was very apparent. And yet, looking at him now, his eyebrows furrowed in sleep, clearly effected by whatever he was seeing in the dream world, he looked strangely vulnerable. Balthazar never thought he would use 'Dante' and 'vulnerable' in the same sentence.

Dante had done things that Balthazar honestly believed he could never forgive. He had killed many people in Seattle on top of that. He killed Gabriel...and many others. So many things were orchestrated by him and he had done it all without a shred of mercy.

Balthazar thought again on what he dwelled on earlier. What was the difference between Dean and him now? Dean was going to kill them all to kill Dante and Dante would kill everyone to keep running.

If he wanted to keep running. It was hard to detect the direction of Dante's thoughts...Just as it was for all of them. If he knew Dante...and he believed, despite his actions, he kind of did now...then he knew the latter wouldn't want to keep playing hide and seek with Dean for long. It wouldn't be the prospect of Dean destroying city by city every hour until there was nothing that would stop Dante. It would be the simple idea that he was running from a challenge. And he couldn't abide by that for long.

Balthazar calmed him down, approached his bed and placed a hand over his forehead. Enough of his power released that Dante stopped twisting around in the bed almost instantly and calmed down, flattening on his back. Balthazar had cast a very mild sleep spell that calmed Dante's mind down of all the obstructions. He was in deep enough sleep that he didn't feel much when Balthazar pulled underneath him and placed the comforter over his sleeping form. Immediately, Dante's breathing regulated to a normal pattern and he stilled.

Balthazar settled himself on a chair that he pulled next to his bed. Sometimes it was quite an annoying feat to not be able to sleep, but he settled. Angels could 'power down' which was the angelic equivalent to sleep. It was like machinery going down...only really happened when an angel was exhausted or completely spent on power. He was exhausted, but only in the mental sense...even after that fiasco in Seattle.

His eyes fell on Dante's form, the part of his chest uncovered by sheets. Balthazar could see a part where his shirt seemed to fold in...as if there was a hole...right where his heart would be. How curious...When did that happen? How deep did that wound go?

He'd have to remember to ask Dante about it when he woke up...Balthazar's mind drifted on to simpler times. When the crisis was hardly touching them.

* * *

><p><strong>Heaven- Many Years Ago<strong>

* * *

><p>"Come on, fumblefoot, speed it up!" Dante was yelling as he raced past the gates. Balthazar was hot on his heels, struggling to keep up. But he really couldn't match Dante's speed when he was running on pure excitement. The burst of clouds was almost distracting if Balthazar wasn't already used to it. He managed to see the running silhouette of Dante as he flitted past. He ducked and dodged through passing angels who scowled at the pair of them as they passed with very disapproving looks.<p>

Dante stopped just short of Eden. The Garden of Eden was practically the only region in Heaven seen by all angels. It was supposed to be their paradise as opposed to the many generated for each human soul that resided here. A soul generated a paradise of its own...and an angel's paradise was here. It was here that humanity once lived side by side with them and succumbed to the temptation of the forbidden fruit.

It had not changed since then. It was still the same size and shape as before, and this time the cherry blossoms that were not yet blooming had opened up at last, caught up in gusts of wind, moving around them in swirls. It was always a beautiful sight like much of Heaven already was.

Dante found himself in the shade and Balthazar bumped right into his back, collapsing both of them to the ground. They found themselves at the feet of two Archangels. Metatron and Raphael. The two simultaneously looked down at them. Raphael looked rather annoyed but Metatron did not. In Balthazar's limited experiences with her, she was usually very focused on building her skills as a warrior...and she hardly had time to play.

In terms of age, she wasn't that much older. She was actually the youngest angel to be granted the position of Archangel.

"Dante. Balthazar," Raphael greeted as the two of them disentangled from each other and stood upright. "You two should be getting ready. Today is Draft Day. You'll be learning who your commanding officer will be, won't you?"

"Yes, General," said Balthazar, nodding in respect.

"Would hate to see either of you coming in late," said Raphael, eyeing the two of them with undeniable scrutiny. "Run along now. We'll be starting soon."

"Yes, sir," said Balthazar, and he took a hold of Dante's arm and dragged him away. Dante showed very little respect to Raphael. The subject of Draft Day was much deliberation between all of the young recruits. Nobody usually ever wanted to be selected under Raphael's lead...There was too many rumors spread around that he was the toughest General in the entire legion and he shaped his soldiers the same way.

They had just gotten back from a guided patrol with Gabriel...which meant they got to go down to the mortal realm with Gabriel and join him on his normal patrols. It was always fascinating to go on these patrols. To see the humans on Earth walking around in their normal routines. Everything was so rushed with them...catching their conversations with their wide range of emotions was also fascinating.

At least, Balthazar thought so. Dante found it quite boring. He said humans were a very simple race and they offered nothing special like angels did. No powers, no inclination to fight unless it was for such pointless purposes. Money, Power, Land...Simple greed. It was all so useless to him. He also commented that many of them were slaves to their sentiment and their emotions which made them infinitely weaker.

"I really hope I don't end up in his regiment," said Balthazar when they were out of earshot.

"With your luck, you might be," said Dante with a small laugh.

Balthazar lightly punched his arm and then shook his hand which reddened instantly from hitting more armor than actual skin. "You better hope not."

"I hope I end up in Gabriel's legion," Dante told him. "Most of the ones that come from there are a lot of fun."

"Where is he anyway?" Balthazar looked around, expecting the Archangel to appear in the Garden as he did almost every time in a flash of sparks and whirl of cherry blossoms.

"He said he had to do something. Something important," said Dante, cupping his elbow and clenching his jaw with his fingers in thought with a bit of a frown. "He actually sounded serious. I wonder what he had to do."

"Not our business. He'll make it in time. I'm pretty sure he picked me for his legion. He's been hinting," said Balthazar smugly.

"Oh, you think so," said Dante, rolling his eyes.

"I know so," Balthazar assured him. "Why wouldn't he want me? I'm the best new recruit there is. I bet they're all fighting over it."

Dante shoved him. "Don't let it get to your head, Balthazar."

"Hey guys!" Someone called behind them. Both Dante and Balthazar turned around to find a small figure bounding towards them. He made more of a ruckus then they did, and not nearly as reflexively as they did. He bumped into the legs of several angels, slid under the capes of others until he slid to a stop through the grass right in front of Dante and Balthazar.

"Castiel...I'm starting to think they might put a leash on you," said Balthazar lightly while Dante turned away, crossing his arms and keeping his eyes off the young fledgling.

"I didn't want to miss the start," Castiel justified himself, breathing hard that he put his hands on his knees and bent over. He was a tiny thing. Having seen plenty of humans, Balthazar would say he looked at least fourteen or fifteen, with Dante and himself looking around eighteen which was the ripe age of a young recruit.

Castiel was nearing his own age to be recruited to a legion, but not quite yet. Very enthusiastic. Balthazar was fond of him and his enthusiasm. It was a welcome refresh from Dante, surely. He wouldn't even look at Castiel, or acknowledge at all that he existed.

"You know they're not going to allow you to stick around, Castiel," said Balthazar reprovingly. "You're too young to be here."

"I just wanted to see you guys off," said Castiel excitedly. "I hope you're in a good one, Balthazar!"

"Me too, kid," said Balthazar with a small chuckle.

"Look at what I can do!" Castiel raised his hand and sparks of blue lightning came from his fingertips.

"Very impressive, Castiel," said Balthazar approvingly.

"I'm going to miss you," said Castiel. He bounded forward and hugged Balthazar tight. "I really will. I'm really happy for you."

"He's happy for you," Dante scoffed, taking a few steps forward.

Balthazar gave Dante a glance and sighed. Castiel had moved to embrace and he met Balthazar's gaze, mouthing. _He doesn't like me._

Balthazar was in the process of shaking his head to disprove that theory but that was when Raphael, Metatron and a few other Archangels spread out. Balthazar recognized Seraphiel, another female Archangel with blonde hair, Barachiel, a male with black hair and a very huge, tall and strong build and of course Metatron and Raphael. They spread out and left a space open that Balthazar knew was for Gabriel.

Angelic legions were recognized by a colored strip on each of their armor. Blue meant Raphael. Green meant Gabriel. Red meant Michael himself. Only the strongest answered to Michael directly. Perhaps it was why in addition to their legion's color, each Archangel had a white strip on their shoulder plates as well.

"He's late," said Raphael, glancing at Metatron. "Some figurehead. This is the worst example to set. Being late on Draft Day."

"I'm sure Gabriel will make an appearance shortly," said Metatron.

"Yes, you think so," said Raphael scathingly. "You are new here, Metatron, so perhaps you are unaware. There is very little that our brother regards as important. Besides...his important task...is not so important, trust me."

Metatron looked over then. "Why? Do you know something?"

Raphael smiled at her, then his eyes went down to the dark purple strip on her shoulder plate, which he placed a hand over. "Nothing to concern yourself over...Did you know the human term for a new recruit is a 'rookie'?"

Metatron cocked an eyebrow. "Is that right?"

"You show promise, Metatron. You're rising fast in the ranks. The youngest Archangel under Michael. I understand you gained your recognition through writing the Scripture, is that correct? But this is the first regiment you've commanded yourself, yes? You'll have a very limited capacity at your disposal. I trust you'll use them well," said Raphael, turning back to face forward. "That is...of course, if you display capabilities in being a General."

Metatron copied the movement and smiled herself. Which was rare, even for her. Nothing amused Metatron. But she wasn't completely daft of understanding mockery. "Are you mocking me, Raphael?"

"I'm pointing out an observation, Metatron. Mind your temper. It will get you nowhere. General Michael does not take lightly to reckless behavior," said Raphael.

"Good thing I'm not reckless," said Metatron, raising an eyebrow.

Raphael smirked but made no reply. He instead called to the gathering soldiers. He spotted the still-fledgling Castiel run off. The rest of them were of age, all in uniform height and shape. And yet, being used to seeing soldiers of much stronger and capable build, they looked fresh and weak to the gathered generals.

Dante took a place next to Balthazar who was completely still and silent. They were in the third row, which made the view particularly hard to see through.

Balthazar glanced over at Dante whose stance was too relaxed, his feet apart and he was bobbing back and forth on his feet. This wasn't unusual for Dante. He was never for speeches of any sort of ceremonies. Early in his fledgling years, they called him delinquent for various acts of disobeying direct orders. Hopefully he'd mellow out under a General he liked.

"We're going to do something a little different this time," Raphael announced to the group. "Normally, we sort you based on scores on your spellwork, your combat skills... what's been reported. However, this time...we're going to do one final field exam."

There was a murmur of dissent, several exchanged glances of outrage and disbelief.

Balthazar was one of them. He turned to Dante and spoke in a rushed whisper. "He can't just swap the rules around like that. Where's Gabriel? He'd never stand for this."

"Why are you under some mistaken assumption that one of these guys has power over the other. They make the rules as they go. Let them," said Dante, shrugging his shoulders lightly.

"Dante...They shouldn't mess with the system," said Balthazar.

"The system sucks. We come in here to see cherry blossoms and get glared at. No one likes the system, Balthazar," said Dante, rolling his eyes. "They want to test us one more time. I say, let them. It's not like it matters anyway."

"Dante-" Balthazar began.

But they were interrupted as Raphael called everyone back to order. "I know there's much discord on this decision...I can feel it. But there are over twenty of you. And that is more than enough for the mission we have for you. The circumstances are real. The battle will be real...but should you fail...our senior officers will clean up the job. They always do."

"This isn't right. He can't do this," Balthazar hissed.

"Leave it alone, Balthazar," said Dante.

"You'll be divided into several squads. Each squadron will have an acting General on board should the mission get messy...But don't worry. It should be a touch and go," Raphael announced.

The next few minutes had them moved into groups of five. Dante and Balthazar remained in the same squad, possibly only because of their place next to each other in ranks. Three others joined them that Balthazar recognized as a red-haired female named Anna, a dark-skinned male named Uriel who was a bit more muscular in build than the rest and another male that Balthazar had never spoken to before named Zachariah.

Metatron was the one who approached them. "So, you're all in my squad, it looks like. My name is Metatron. I'll be your charge for the remainder of the exam."

"General, is this a mission or an exam? I thought an official mission would require absolute completion...Why are you guys sending us? If I may ask," Balthazar asked her.

"We will achieve absolute completion," Metatron told him, looking at him directly. Young as Metatron was, she wasn't nervous in the slightest. She had one of those looks that made you feel cross examined. Her eyes were a bright orange which was peculiar in an angel...but not uncommon. Still, Balthazar had never seen it before. Metatron was a renowned Archangel for all of her early accomplishments.

"This is just an exam to test what you've learned thus far," said Metatron. "Should you fail, then we will know where to place you."

"Remedial classes," said Dante with a humorless laugh.

"Remedial training," Metatron amended. 'It's nothing to be ashamed of. You've trained in combat and spells for a long time. This should be a breeze for all of you."

"It's not a big deal," said Uriel in a deep voice. "You're right. We're all trained. We all have an element we've mastered."

"Then you should have nothing to be concerned for," said Metatron.

"What is the mission, General?" Anna asked.

"Your mission is to investigate a power influx we've felt on the mortal realm. We believe they came from a cave to the northeast of the European continent. The place has been abandoned for some time and we sent three scouts to bring the source of the power to us...," Metatron crossed her arms. "None of them have returned thus far."

"Are we going to look for the scouts?" Balthazar asked.

"That is not your primary mission objective. Recovering our soldiers is a secondary objective. You are to do what the scouts intended and bring the source of the power to us," said Metatron. She closed her eyes briefly, facing her feet, seemingly focused. "More than likely this source is in the form of a Fallen...and if that is the case, you should be more than prepared to handle one Fallen."

"And if it's many Fallen?" Dante asked in turn. Everyone looked around at him. "What. It's possible, isn't it?"

Metatron opened her eyes and looked at him. "If it's many Fallen, then you should at least be able to hold them off until help arrives. There are twenty of you, after all. We'll take care of it. I trust all of you are able to perform barrier spells?"

They all nodded except Dante, who just crossed his arms and turned away. Metatron seemed to take it as a 'yes' rather than a denial.

"I'll send you the location via Link. I expect you all to be ready within the hour, " said Metatron. "Practice...Get your weapons. Do what you need to be at one hundred percent...but do not be late. Punctuality...Your behavior, your attitude towards your squad, these are all attributes we will be evaluating in this exam. You're dismissed."

They all walked away in twos and while Dante and Balthazar turned at the same time, side by side, it was Anna who followed the two of them.

"Hey," said Anna. "I heard about you guys. Dante. Balthazar, right? They're really excited about your evaluation, Balthazar."

Balthazar smiled furtively. "Hehe...Come on, they're going to evaluate me fairly just like they are everyone else."

Dante rolled his eyes and started walking ahead of them. Balthazar knew why...but what could he do when people complimented him? Just insult them? Sure, it could be distracting sometimes...

"I think you'll get top score," said Anna.

"I think that's something we'll all get if we work together, right? The squads will probably get the same grade as the others in the same squad. So no worries. We're going to show them...and they'll definitely put us all in the same group,"

"I really hope so, Balthazar. I have to go prepare! I'll see when the mission starts!" She said, waving at him, not even bothering to look Dante's way. Balthazar stopped to wave back at her, watching her run off through the garden to the training grounds.

"You're so encouraging," said Dante when she was clear of earshot.

Balthazar dropped his hand and raised an eyebrow at Dante. "Is that a problem? They're nervous enough as it is. It's better for them not to be."

"Are _you_ nervous?" Dante asked, slowing his pace down so they matched and he could lean down on him.

Balthazar leaned away. Dante was close enough that he could feel the hot exhale of breath that Dante gave...Strange too when Angels usually ran cold. "Of course I'm nervous. Aren't you?"

Dante ignored the question. "So you don't want to show weakness. Why? They're not evaluating you right now, Balthazar."

"I know they're not," Balthazar snapped irritably. "But maybe...Maybe I'm better at hiding my nerves. If I can keep it up-"

"You'll get top score?" Dante leaned down on him again. "You're such a sheep, Balthazar."

"A what?!" Balthazar repeated, outraged as Dante turned away from him, smiling rather smugly. He caught his friend around the arm. Never had he heard him speak so venomously. Dante was always an acquired taste, for everyone but Balthazar. But he was being particularly crude today...and he wanted to know why. It seemed that lately the only time Dante smiled was when they were alone together...Smiled without mockery, that is.

"You're a sheep. You follow orders blindly. This is what you're aspiring to be," said Dante, extending his arms around them. "All these rules and regulations meant to keep order or whatever..They're crap, you know that? Crap."

"Are you serious? Our whole existence was created to protect and serve mankind," said Balthazar in a low hiss. Dante's raised voice attracted stares of nearby Celestials and Balthazar prayed with all his might that they weren't catching an inkling of what Dante had said.

"Our existence is to follow orders blindly. That's our fate, Balthazar. That's what's going to happen if we all pass the damn exam. Condemned to an eternity...Do you understand me? An eternity. Not a few years, not six months...Your entire life from here on is going to be spent following the orders of some Angel that you may or may not hate. That's what we're going to be...and you know the sad part is that we did nothing really to deserve that."

Balthazar's fingers tightened around Dante's bare flesh. He felt the cut of his silver armor from the plate on his shoulder. "You've spent way too much time in the human world on patrol. Do you hear yourself? What's bringing this on?"

Dante pulled himself free. The angels around were approaching now and one in particular came close that neither of them had seen before. It was an angel with a winged galea covering most of his face. The only discernible feature was his very green eyes hidden through the shadow of the silver helmet.

"Is there a problem, you two?" The Angel said, looking at the two of them. Balthazar was surprised he didn't give an indication he heard them. As a rule, there was too much going on in Heaven to focus upon a single thing unless you really had to. That was perhaps why the quietest places for angels was in the courts and in the garden. Everywhere else, there was noise of souls generated and exploring their respective heavens and angels training on the training grounds, casting various spells and sparring in melee combat.

"No problem, right, Balthazar?" Dante challenged, crossing his arms. It was clear this angel was a senior officer and Dante didn't look in the least bit intimidated.

"No problem," Balthazar echoed with a glower.

"You two are part of the exam that's starting soon, aren't you? Shouldn't you be brushing up on your training?" The angel asked, looking from one to the other.

"We don't need to," said Dante, raising his chin and finally tearing his gaze away from Balthazar to look up at the senior officer. "But you're right...We still have time until the exam starts...This is a good time to make use of the free time we have, _sir._"

And he turned and walked away before Balthazar could stop him. Balthazar felt the reflex to follow but he held himself down, just glaring at his retreating form while the senior officer angel stood by his side.

"You have a lot of potential, Balthazar," said the senior officer. "I'd hate to see it go to waste because of extra interests in irrelevant things."

Distracted, Balthazar looked up at him. His first question was going to be how he knew his name. The senior officers never cared to learn your name until you were actually part of their regiment. But it was the second part of his sentence that stopped him. Instead he simply said, "Sir?"

"He's not that much of a rarity...The loner type...The jealous type. Burdened by his own inadequacies and lack of potential. It lashes out. Not uncommon...but also quite dangerous to keep as company," said the angel.

He was referring to Lucifer of course. Lucifer, the rebellious son, the first Fallen. Showing signs of rebellion was never a good sign...and Dante...

"I think he'll be fine," said Balthazar assuredly. "He...He gets jealous sometimes I think. Of other people. But he's not a bad person. He's going to do well on the field exam, trust me."

The angel looked skeptical. "Jealousy led to the Fall. Keep that in mind. Not all Celestials that have Fallen thus far were part of the First War. Some are simply made that way. Keep careful around him. Temptation exists in every corner of the mortal plane. You must be prepared to do what's necessary if the time comes."

And he turned and began to walk away, leaving Balthazar staring after him. He wanted to call after him, ask him what he meant by that. What was the necessary thing to do?

He shook his head of it. Not much time was left between now and the field exam. Balthazar retreated to the training fields where the other recruits were. Despite himself, he looked around for any sign of Dante and found nothing. He tried to focus on other things. The swing of his sword. His small wings extended, not nearly as big as they would become as they echoed his movement with each whirl and spin. They were a weapon of their own after all.

There was still no sign of Dante even as the hour came to a close. Everyone was heading for the exit now, past the pearly gates where they followed the location that flashed in their minds. Balthazar received three images in vast succession. A starry night. A black cave and it's opening spanning over twenty feet tall at the entrance and the darkness of the forest that was outlining it.

Balthazar focused with all his might upon these images and it was with very little effort that after he cleared the gates, that he disappeared to that same location at the speed of light.

Simple images kept out the other details. The forest smells were not as appealing at night as they were in the day. There was instead the smell of blood and decay as mist poured out of the cave. The starry sky provided very little light on them, but given perfect eyesight, that was not a problem. Balthazar stretched out his senses as the other angels appeared beside him, all gathering in their respective groups. No human beings for miles and miles. The closest civilization was practically in another country altogether.

They were grouped together. Anna, Uriel and Zachariah were accounted for and still no sign of Dante. Not a good thing. Metatron was their squad leader and pretty soon she was going to disqualify him if she didn't spot him there with them when she came up.

"Where's your boyfriend?" Zachariah asked, looking around for him.

"You know, I got curious," Uriel interjected before Zachariah could speak. "Is it really true that your buddy boy, Dante doesn't have an element he's mastered yet?"

"I heard that too," Zach put in. "How is he even qualified to take this field exam, then? They're really just letting anyone in, aren't they?"

"So what if he doesn't have elemental mastery?" Balthazar snapped. "He's just as _qualified_ to be here as any of us are."_  
><em>

"But it would help to have an element to work with," Anna said in a quiet voice.

Balthazar rounded on her. "Yes, it would. But he doesn't, and that's fine. He's still as good as we are."

Just then he saw the Archangels appear and take control of their squadrons. They saw Metatron appear last. As soon as she spotted the four of them in the back, she made a beeline straight for them and Balthazar felt his heartbeat pick up rapidly. Really now, where was Dante? Why hadn't he arrived yet? Had their argument upset him this much that he forfeited the mission?

"Nice defense, Balthazar , but I really didn't need that," said a voice above them. There was Dante, lying on his back atop a high branch. He hopped down just as Metatron was approaching less than fifteen feet away. "No one needs to defend me but me...But the general consensus is..."

He leaned down towards Uriel, which was a considerable feat on his part. He was taller than all of them, including Metatron. It was his usual tactic to use it as a intimidation tactic. Not for Balthazar. Not until today, that is...yet for everyone else it was just to prove his metaphor of being above everyone by looking down on them.

"I don't care what people think of me...Especially not anyone in _this _squad," said Dante coldly.

Before anyone could answer him, Metatron closed in on them. "Good, you're all here. I've received our mission parameters."

"Good, let's get started," said Zach, cracking his knuckles together.

"We are Squad D. As you know, the primary objective is to retrieve the source of the power influx here. If you stretch out, you can feel it. It's fainter now...because we believe that the being within is now aware of our presence. He, she...or it...is possibly scared. We are preparing to mobilize now. Squad D's primary objective is to secure the entrance and ensure that the being inside does not escape...Should it attempt, we will engage the being or...beings...in battle...and subdue it long enough."

"Sounds important," said Balthazar.

"Sounds boring," said Dante. "So we're on standby, you're saying?"

"Securing the entrance is priority. The order to withdraw is also priority, don't forget that," said Metatron, without a change in expression as she looked at Dante.

"This is just great," said Dante, crossing his arms and looking away.

"We'll secure the entrance,' said Balthazar loudly, as though that would completely negate what Dante was doing.

"Then stand by here, we're waiting for the mobilization," said Metatron, turning around. They all watched as the other three squadrons formed ranks, each preparing to enter the dark cave. Balthazar didn't know why. But he had a bad feeling about that place. yes, the power he felt coming from the cave was faint...but it was still there. It was almost like the presence was toying with them...and perhaps sending a huge number of celestials was a bad idea after all that. The cramp of the cave would entail numbers mean nothing.

"General, I have a bad feeling," said Balthazar out loud as the last of the celestial recruits went inside, disappearing into the darkness.

Metatron stepped in front of him, ignoring the statement and pointed at the mouth of the cave"All right. The mission is officially underway. Squad D, secure the entrance."

Dante sighed, stepping forward first. He withdrew his sword from his belt and the squad followed suit, following him to the entrance. Dante didn't bother 'standing'. He took a place on the rock of the cave by the side and leaned on it, the tip of his sword picking at the roots in the dirt.

Metatron hung back while the other four approached him.

"Standby. Boring. Like I said. We may as well not have even come," said Dante shrewdly.

"It's important to be everyone's backup too, Dante," Balthazar told him.

"Maybe it's better if _you_ didn't come," said Zach. "I mean...It'd certainly be quieter."

Dante ignored him. "Backup, Balthazar? Please. If the 'evil and dark' presence inside the cave kills them all, what chance do we have? Let's just face it, we'd be cannon fodder, too."

"No one's going to die in the cave," said Balthazar, and he said it more to the others than Dante when answering. "It's a simple mission. They go in, they get it out, we leave and we're done."

"And we do nothing in the process. It's a loss on all fronts," Dante growled.

"Were you looking to become a hero?" Uriel mocked, mimicking Dante's earlier movement by crossing his arms and leaning to the side. "Please. It wouldn't have mattered if they stuck you in Squad A at the front line, Dante. You'd never walk out of this a hero."

Dante leaned off the rock and stepped towards him. "What makes you so sure? You think you know me,_ Urinal_?"

Uriel raised his chin. "I know your type. You're not the type to put your life down for anyone other than yourself. You wanna break the rules because there are rules. And you instigate it in others. Well, let me tell you something, it's backfiring. We're not going to fall for this. We have orders, we're going to follow them."

"Huh...Now, who's trying to be a hero?" Dante countered.

"It's not being a hero. It's following orders," said Uriel.

"It's being a sheep," said Dante with a pointed look at all of them. None of them answered him, and his gaze lingered for a moment longer on Balthazar. But it was clear no one was really budging on his point or going to further indulge his desire to argue with Metatron so close.

Balthazar knew every action, every word was being monitored very closely on this mission. She had probably heard everything. There was no distraction in Heaven. He tried to evaluate her expression from this distance...Maybe just to see if she was mentally docking points for Dante's behavior. But her face gave away nothing. Archangels were complete masters of their emotions. If she viewed Dante as being insubordinate, then she definitely wouldn't think it out loud.

They stood in silence for a moment, occasionally trying to strain and listen to any sounds from the cave. How big was it that so many had gotten inside without notice so far? Not even sounds of spellwork or the distant clang of a sword. It must have been deep for that...or really they hadn't found it yet. An hour came and went.

Squad D kind of spread out then. Anna had taken a seat on the grass, tracing random patterns of circles with the tip of her finger. Dante remained on that rock, leaning with his head bowed like he was sleeping. And Uriel and Zachariah were huddled together and slightly apart from the group, sitting and talking in low voices.

Eventually, Balthazar just got up and approached Dante. He couldn't be annoyed with him forever...He did, after all, have redeeming qualities from this arrogance that everyone else got to see.

"You really can't resist aggravating a few people, can you?" Balthazar asked, shaking his head.

"Am I aggravating people today?" Dante retorted, his eyebrows raising in mild surprise.

"Try everyone around us," Balthazar replied. "And I think you know it. Cut it out, Dante. You know we're a team here, right? You know the code of the celestial warrior, right?"

"Oh my...Are you seriously going to tell me?"

"It's about Honor. Companionship. Trust. Loyalty. All these things. You can't go around making everyone hate you, Dante," said Balthazar.

"Why not?" Dante countered, with a side glance at the rest of the squad. He had the courtesy to lower his voice just a little at least. "You think any of them matter to me, Balthazar? They're snobby trash. Some of them are made that way. At least no one can argue that Father didn't diversify."

"They're not snobby...They're just scared, Dante. Just because you're not...or because you're pretending you're not...doesn't mean you have to reprimand them," said Balthazar.

"Don't lecture me," said Dante snappishly. "The team sucks."

"Where do you learn to talk like this? I swear, you spend entirely too much time on this realm," said Balthazar.

"You learn a mess of things," said Dante. "You should try it sometimes. Offer yourself up on patrols. Human beings are fascinating creatures."

"Like...for example...," Dante pulled himself off the rock and came close taking Balthazar's hands in his in a tight grip before he could stop him. He bore down, very close. His voice was low, almost a murmur. "Did you know there's a song about a ship sinking that these humans down here just adore?"

"What?" Balthazar was distracted, he lost track of what Dante had asked.

"It's an epic romance, Balthazar," Dante whispered, then he broke away from Balthazar, uncaring of the audience they had gained. He walked backwards, his arms extended and his eyes locked on Balthazar as he sang. "You're heeeereee. There's noooothing, I feeear...and I knoooooow, that my heart wiiiiilll...goooo ooooon."

"Dante...," Balthazar shook his head, laughing. "What are you doing?"

Before Dante could answer, there was a distinct scream behind him, coming from deep within the cave. Dante slowly turned his head in that direction and another scream followed the first, that one more discernible. It was definitely the scream of an angel undergoing extreme pain as he cried out for help.

The smile slipped from Balthazar's face so quickly. Everyone jumped to their feet, looking at the mouth of the cave that Dante backed away from. Everyone but Dante took out their sword then.

"Shall we go in then, General?" Balthazar asked, addressing Metatron first.

"Squad D's primary objective is to secure the entrance-"

"You've got to be joking. They need our help in there!" Dante cried out.

"Like I said. That's our primary objective...," Metatron sounded like she was severely trying to keep her patience. "But we can make an exception. Your new objective is to take over from the other Squads. Find the source of power. Security of any fallen or injured recruits is secondary. Now, go!"

And they did. The darkness of the cave enveloped them all quickly. And for the first time, Balthazar truly felt the power within that they were looking for. It was actually intimidating, how powerful it was. Surely this couldn't have been a Fallen. A nest, perhaps. And yet it didn't feel like there was several power signatures here, it felt like there was only one. And that was impossible. He only felt this power from Archangels and that was normal when encountering them. Granted there were many Archangels inside heading the squad...but the singular power source was all Balthazar could feel...perhaps that meant that the Archangels that had gone inside beside Metatron had...died.

He didn't want to think of that. He heard the others following him. Without truly wanting to, Balthazar and Dante had taken the lead. Dante's pace was matching his. The formation was rocky and very hard to navigate through. The darkness didn't help any either. Balthazar was following his sixth sense, just following the signature and knowing he was getting closer with every step.

"I can't see," Zach complained.

"No one can see, moron," said Uriel.

"We should use a light spell," Anna suggested. "What's the harm. We could be stepping over their bodies now."

"That's a twisted mind you got there, sister," said Dante, glancing over his shoulder. "What makes you so sure they're dead?"

"Oh please," She scoffed. "No one screams like that for nothing. This should have never been given to us as a field exam...This is...way...way over our heads."

"And the Archangels that were assigned for cleanup duty? What, they just abandoned their posts?" Dante asked, smiling to himself. "This is all part of the exam, trust me. As long as it gives us something to do other than guard duty...I'm happy. Why do you think our squad leader hung back there? It's a test."

"This isn't a test anymore...This is a mission we should leave," said Anna.

"The woman's scared. Who else is not surprised?" Uriel asked, laughing rather unkindly.

"Quiet," said Balthazar abruptly. He stopped and Zach nearly bumped into him, scowling in the dark. There was a loud crunch as Balthazar realized he stepped in something. He removed his foot and felt the resistance as something gooey tried to keep his boot flat on the cave floor. Maybe a light spell wasn't so bad. He cast it silently and the tip of his sword glowed white as he shone it over his foot and saw what he had stepped on.

The shock made him stumble back into Dante, who caught him but staggered himself from the weight into the cave wall. It wasn't goo. It had been blood. He had stepped on the face of an angel. Balthazar only recognized him in passing. It was one he had never personally spoken to himself and yet they were the same age. He was dead.

The light flickered on for more bodies. The rest of the recruits. Dante spotted Seraphiel not far from the rest of her dead squad, bodies littered and discarded in strange angles like someone had broken every single bone and left them to rot. Each had a common trait. A bloody "D" was printed on each of their foreheads, dripping down their faces.

"D...What...," said Balthazar, covering his mouth. He felt sick to their stomach and almost didn't want to pull away from Dante as the other pulled him to stand upright.

"Still saying we shouldn't turn back?" Anna said in a small voice.

"We're not turning back now," said Dante. He hadn't drawn out his weapon and now he did. It gleamed from the light off Balthazar's sword. As Balthazar raised his hand a little, he lit over Dante's face which was rather fearless...all things considered. It was a stark contrast to Uriel, Zach or Anna who didn't look pleased at all with his declaration.

"I say we go back and report this to General Metatron," said Uriel. "Screw the exam. Everyone's dead. We can pass this just on the consensus we survived."

"You coward," Dante hissed. "Your comrades are fallen and your first thought is your own wellbeing. Now who's laying down their life for no one but themselves?"

"If this is where they died," Anna squeaked. "Maybe we should go."

"They came out of nowhere...All of them...," A voice spoke through the darkness. Shaken and broken. Dante moved aside as Balthazar raised his lit sword to the direction of the voice. It was an angel covered in blood and gore, his armor practically taking on a new color. It was hard to discern any other features. His hair was damp and strung with blood and his armor was dripping. He had huddled in the corner away from battle, his face pale and light blue eyes wide in fear.

"A survivor," said Balthazar, rushing forward to kneel in front of him. Without waiting a moment, he began a healing spell to clear the young angel of wounds. He looked even younger then all of them...Castiel's age. "Are you all right? What happened here? Who did this?"

"It was...It was burning...black...Killed them...Killed them all...I watched it all happen," The boy said in a trembly voice. Upon closer inspection, it was clear his hair was a strange shade of light silver, almost the color of moonlight, shoulder-length and near his cheeks. His eyes were blue in the white light but closer, they shone silver too.

"We have to get him out of here," said Balthazar. 'We have to get him to safety. Whoever did this could be coming back for him."

"Or for us," Zach added.

"Come on," said Balthazar, putting his arm under the boy's and steady lifting him to carry him.

"Oh, thank you...Thank you so much...I thought I was dead for sure," said the boy, gripping Balthazar tightly. As he passed him, Dante saw his hand flicker and a brief spark of silver. A spell.

Dante yanked him away from Balthazar in the instant by the hair and shoved him flat against the wall, his elbow pressed hard underneath his neck.

"Dante!" Balthazar cried.

"This one lies," said Dante in a low, menacing tone. "It's a spell. It's a glamour spell. He's not what he seems. He's _no_ celestial."

"What makes you so sure?" Balthazar asked as the other three crowded behind Dante too. None of them dared to touch though.

The boy grunted and instantly, he began to change. His eyes grew bigger, his chin became slightly longer by a full inch and his cheekbones became more prominent. Even his body seemed to stretch a few inches so that he was more Dante's height. The celestial armor glowed once, changing from bloodsplashed silver to black to simple human garments. A long silver coat with an inverted cross on the right shoulder stretching all the way down the sleeve in red and black ink, and a black shirt with the same cross underneath.

"Who are you? What's your name?" Dante asked, shaking him once. His hold was strong, but given the strength of a Fallen, it wouldn't be much for the "boy" to break it if he so chose.

"My name is Virgil. Good intuition, _celestial_," said Virgil with his bright eyes dead on Dante. "You're the first."

"The first what," Dante spat. And the Fallen disappeared just like that in his grip and Dante stumbled forward, hearing the echoing sound of his laughter from deeper in the cave.

Dante took two steps towards that direction and then slowly turned towards the rest of the squad. "I'm going."

"I'm going too," said Balthazar.

"Are you two insane? We need to report this. If that Fallen killed all of the angels here, he's way stronger than all of us combined," said Uriel.

" Coward," said Dante again.

"There are still Archangels here, you guys. We have to find them,"

"Uh, Seraphiel looks pretty dead," said Zach, disrepectfully poking her cheek with his foot since he was near her enough.

"That's not all of them," said Balthazar pointedly.

"You three wanna run. Run," Dante shrugged, resting his sword on his shoulder very nonchalantly. "We don't run."

Zach moved towards them, but Uriel caught his shoulder. "Let them go. They wanna commit suicide. Let them. We're reporting to the General."

"Fine," said Uriel. "Your funeral."

"Or yours," said Dante.

And they left, with Balthazar and Dante watching after them. Anna gave them a sweeping look and a shake of her head like she had already accepted that they were doomed and went back the direction they had come from.

When they were gone, Balthazar turned to Dante. "Who do you think that Fallen was? I don't remember him from the war."

"Fallen change their appearances," said Dante. "I wouldn't blame them for doing it either. If I wanted to nix any association with my old crew...that'd be the first thing I'd do...Get out of this tight armor."

"You think you're joking," said Balthazar, giving him a hard look.

"Come on," said Dante more seriously, holding his sword out. "Walk a little ahead of me. Guide the way."

Balthazar did so...The bodies were everywhere...Every recruit, and Balthazar had a pang every time he saw it. The cave was deep...and soon the bodies were gone...but the trails of blood remained, like the angels had been dragged. It seemed like torture had occurred...and it was a wonder they didn't hear it all from the outside.

Dante was right. Standby was stupid...but in a way, they were saved by this. Now, what were they doing? Uriel had said that the Fallen was probably stronger than all of them...and he wasn't wrong. The Fallen could probably break their backs like they were twigs...and it was a wonder he hadn't done it when he had the chance moments ago.

To think he might have lost Dante in a span of a few seconds unnerved Balthazar. The Fallen was toying with them.

Balthazar stopped when he heard a crunch below them and raised his foot for the second time. This second time wasn't nearly as disturbing as the first. He had crushed a skull that looked like it had been there for some time.

"I think...we're close," said Balthazar with a glance at Dante through the little light they had.

"Wait," said Dante, stepping forward. He took a hold of Balthazar's wrist and raised the light up to something written on the wall in strange white symbols as though it was scratched there by something sharp.

"What is this? What does it say?" Balthazar asked, shining his light over all of it. It looked like two different words, the latter being longer than the first. It was in strange symbols that represented no language Balthazar could understand spoken on Earth, Heaven or Hell as far as he knew.

Dante directed his hand over it twice. "...Dean Winchester."

"What? Who's that?" Balthazar said, gawking at him. "And how do you know? Can you read this?"

"No...," Dante rubbed his temple, closing his eyes as though suddenly exhausted. "It's...It's like it's reading it in my head...like a voice..."

"It says...Dean Winchester? Who's Dean Winchester?" Balthazar asked.

"I don't know...,"

Balthazur turned around, directed his light elsewhere. "Look, there's another one. Can you read this one?"

Dante walked to the other side of the cave next to him. "...Castiel."

"Castiel?" Balthazar's eyebrows raised. "Like...Like our Castiel, Castiel?"

"I don't know...Is the name common?" said Dante sarcastically.

"Dean Winchester. Castiel. Why these names? Do you think these are the name of the Fallen here? Do any of them say 'Virgil'?" Balthazar asked.

"I don't know...," said Dante again. He rubbed his temple again. He looked around. "I don't...I don't think so."

Balthazar surveyed him for a long moment. "How are _you_ able to read it? What's happening to you? I can't...feel anything in _my_ head."

"I don't know, Balthazar. There's no point in sticking here and wondering about stupid things," Dante answered coldly. "We should press on. We need to find the Archangels, don't we?"

"Fine," said Balthazar, continuing to look at him from the side of his eye. He didn't look well. He looked strangely distracted. He wondered if that 'voice' was still speaking to him.

They walked further and the source of power was at an all time high, surging all around them like it had become the air they breathed. The cave turned into another hall where a faint dark red light was emitting. Distantly, they heard laughter. Laughter from the same Fallen who had mocked them earlier. But this power felt different.

Slowly they walked towards the light...and found them. Barachiel and Raphael...The two figures swirling around in a mini-tornado around a huge cavern. The symbols that Dante had read earlier were written on every wall, different symbols possibly saying whole phrases.

And all the while...Dante heard Virgil's voice echo his last.

_You're the first... You're the first... You're the first. ...You're the first..._

And at the center, was a surge of black smoke and vapor, emitting that strange red light that blinked. No source from where exactly it was blinking from...The swirl of Archangels was slow...and as they passed, their eyes were closed, and yet no signs of harm was upon them.

"What is this?" Balthazar barely breathed. "What is all this?"

Balthazar began to step forward when something snapped behind him and he turned, too late, to catch it. It wasn't Dante who had been beside him. It was the other. The Fallen. Virgil, as he named himself. The Fallen wrapped his arm tight around Balthazar's neck in an instant and lifted him, cutting off his air supply.

"Mighty fine...Celestial," Virgil clicked something on on his palm and a blade extended from his sleeve, long as any sword without a hilt.

"Let him go!" Dante cried, brandishing his sword high in threat. "Let them all go."

Virgil glanced his way. "Not until you _listen."_

His voice echoed. And it gave Dante another probing sort of headache. He used his free hand to grasp his temple. "...Stop that. _Stop_. Get out of my head."

Virgil started to laugh, slow until his whole body seemed to shake with the amusement, loud and high until the sound bounced all over the cavern. It echoed and hit the membranes of his brain like high-powered sound wave. He could hear each beat of his laughter like a strike in the mind.

"_I SAID STOP!_" Dante bellowed. And the laughter ceased...and so did everything else. Virgil was frozen in his manic act of laughing...Balthazar was looking at Dante, panicked in the slightest...but not moving.

And the Archangels...Barachiel and Raphael had stopped as well, mid flight in their swirl, on opposite ends of the whirlwind they had been part of. Everything had stopped moving completely. Yet Dante found he could still move. The only other that continued to move as he did...was the black smoke in the middle. It crackled with dark red lightning as Dante looked like a powerful swirl of power.

Not Virgil. That was something else.

"What...?" Dante murmured to himself. Bravely, he took a step towards it. "...What's happening...What...What are you?"

He didn't know why he was expecting an answer. It couldn't have been a being, could it? It was just a swirl of power.

But then it answered him...a voice that Dante didn't recognize as hearing ever before...and yet somehow familiar to him...like the voice that spoke to his mind in reading the writing on the walls.

Low and full of a strange type of sadness.

"Hello Dante...I've been waiting a long time to find you,"

"Who are you?" The amended question sprang to his lips. Dante lowered his sword just a fraction. "Answer me, damn you! Who are you?!"

"I have many names...But I am All," said the disembodied voice.

"You're...what? All...? What are you talking about?"

The smoke filled the entire room, and the voice cast everywhere like Virgil's had before, except this time...it caused Dante no pain to hear. "You've spent a long time in the lies of this so-called paradise in Heaven...And now it's time for a change. My name is Dominion, Dante...And I've come for you."


	9. Purgatorio

"Your name is Dominion," Dante repeated with a raise of his eyebrow as the smoke slowly sifted into a single entity in the center of the room once more. His eyes flew around the cavern for an escape. But everything was still frozen. He had done that. Strange. Dante had never done a time spell before. It wasn't an easy sort of magic. It was possibly the most difficult. And his brand of slowing it down was not unheard of, but difficult to master. He was fairly confident he couldn't do it again if prompted.

If everything froze, then why was the being named 'Dominion' still moving as well?

"...and you're here for me...," Dante finished, eyes on the smoke. It began to change color as he watched. Not just black and red. There were other, subtle colors like greens and blues the more he saw it move around.

It didn't answer him. And Dante felt very much like he was losing his mind. Was this all a bad dream? Angels didn't sleep...So he was hallucinating then. Yet it was all so incredibly vivid to be a figment of his imagination...and why would his imagination think up horrible squad members like Anna, Zachariah and Uriel...and why would his imagination kill off the other squads in a backwards mission?

"You can dispel the time spell now, " said Dante after a long moment. "and let them go."

"I think you and I both know that it was not I that cast that spell. Magic. Will...It's not attributed to skill or discipline of the mind as your leaders believe. It's emotion. Your emotion is what triggered the spell," said Dominion.

"Talk of emotion is big coming from a puff of smoke. Why don't you show me your face? That is, of course, if you even _have_ one," Dante snarled scathingly. "Or better yet, tell me why you're looking for me...and why you had to kill everyone to do it."_  
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Something like amusement touched Dominion's voice. "You don't truly care for any of those that died today, Dante. This is pretension."

"Or reality. Those were my brothers," Dante snapped back. "Now, let them go, or I _will_ kill you."

There was a long pause that stretched long and hard. The smoke shifted and the lightning that struck around it began to dissipate. "You're either very brave or very stupid for threatening me."

"_You_ don't get to threaten me," Dante growled. "Murderer."

"As it were, I did not kill your comrades. You can thank Virgil for that. He's quite content in the slaughter of angels, given his...situation," said Dominion.

"Those names I read. Dean Winchester...Castiel...Did you kill them too?" Contradictory. He knew one by the name of Castiel. The other name. Dean Winchester made no sense to him. And it'd be one thing if the names rhymed or were close to each other. They literally had nothing in common. So surely...the name Castiel...was not the same eager fledgling in Heaven.

"I did not kill them...Dean...Castiel...they're very dear to me," said Dominion slowly and...fondly. "Just as you are...and will be."

"What do you want with me?" Dante asked yet again. "Whatever it is, you can have it...Just let everyone go. Let...them go."

"So brave. So sacrificing. Sacrifice attains nothing but tragedy. What I require from you is not anything material or physical. It's something a bit more complex than that. And what I desire...You will give me willingly," Dominion told him. He sounded so strange...unfamiliar and familiar at the same time. He couldn't place where he knew this voice, so that made it unfamiliar...Yet he was sure he had heard it before.

"I **AM** ASKING YOU WILLINGLY, YOU FACELESS SWINE!" Dante roared, his temper spiking and getting the better of him. "Now, let Balthazar go!"

"I know you have many questions," said Dominion calmly. "But there will be time to answer...and time for everything, Dante."

"Make time _now,_"

Before Dominion could answer him...There were footsteps. Dante whipped around, preparing to attack, to ward off any sort of incoming strike from behind...

But it was Metatron. Her eyes swept the entire room, taking in the situation. She easily slid past the unmoving forms of Balthazar and Virgil, instead coming to a stop at the end of the altar. Dante's spell must not have been as strong as he thought...or the range simply did not touch Metatron. There was blood on her armor. He knew why. She had passed every single body left behind by Virgil and transported the dead back to Heaven. It was one of the fundamental rules of being an Archangel was the duty to leave 'no man behind', pretty common in human fundamentals as well.

Dante would have said something to her, but it was the entity known as Dominion that caught his attention. The black smoke from the center of the room changed yet again and this time it began to solidify into something. And that power that was simply sifting around the cave, broken and uncoordinated...and truly unable to be picked up, had finally locked onto a single source. What power it was too. Dante had never felt anything like that before. It was like standing before the strongest Angel and the strongest Fallen at the same time. The dark power had light within it too...which should have been impossible. You could be one or the other. The being that rose was not someone Dante had ever seen before.

It looked like a young man,high height that of a man no older than twenty-two or twenty-three. His hair was shoulder length, two long locks caging his temples. His entire body was glowing white so it made it difficult to discern some features. It was hard to look upon him for long, even with enhanced sight. There were a few features that Dante could pinpoint certain features like the sharpness of his eyebrows...the dark eyes and the long nose. The exact pigment of his skin or the color of his hair was impossible. It could have all been white. He wore long black clothes. A long black overcoat and dark clothing too. These garments too, were outlined in white. Strapped to his back were three swords, one with a silver, jeweled hilt and another with a black hilt, and the final sword with black and white trim on the hilt.

To another, he looked like a man...A man in blurry formation. To an angel, there was more. His wings extended, black as night. The largest wings he had never seen, but they were surrounded by golden flames, steady moving like they were a life of their own. The blackness of his wings resembled a Fallen's...but not like that. Even Lucifer didn't look this way, and he was said to be the most majestic creature that ever stood alive in Heaven. As he rose fully to his face, his eyes went from bright green, to light blue and then red before returning to normal.

"You're...You're an a-a-angel," Dante stammered.

"No," said Dominion firmly. "You cannot correctly define what I am...but I am more than an angel."

And he only had eyes for Metatron.

"Hello, Mother," He said in voice of perfect politeness. Now that his voice and power had went into a single being, he sounded more normal. Still young...still strangely familiar...and yet even with wings included, Dante knew he didn't recognize him as an Fallen from the war. He was younger then...but he was pretty sure a face like that would stick out.

Dante followed his gaze to Metatron. "Mother...? You _know_ him?"

"Dominion," Metatron stated, ignoring Dante. She reached towards her waist where her sword was.

"I would_ not_ be so bold, Mother," Dominion stopped her, his eyes growing cold. "You have potential. Your power is great. It could rival even Michael at this point, but you are still no match for me. Not yet."

Metatron's eyes narrowed. "You don't belong here, Dominion. Your presence will rip this realm apart if you last."

"Fortunately for you, I do not plan on making this realm a permanent residence," Dominion replied lightly. He pointed at her. "I'm here for something. I don't plan on departing until I have it."

"And what is that?"

Dominion smiled, his head tilted to the side. His wings arched above his head and lined up as if he had created a large halo around himself. "Your orders by definition cannot be broken. You have your orders to detain the threat that desecrated the lifeforms within this cave, do you not? I assume this is a priority objective."

"A cage in Heaven cannot hold you and we both know it," said Metatron coldly.

"If your prisoner comes willingly...?" Dominion tilted his head. Dante could have sworn he saw his eyes flash towards the frozen Virgil.

Metatron pursed her lips. "Your deception is widely known. Why should I believe you or your pawn won't turn on us?"

Dominion raised his hand almost lazily. The time spell broke, as did the whirlwind spell that kept Barachiel and Raphael suspended disappeared. The two Archangels were released. At the same time, Virgil and Balthazar stumbled into one another with Balthazar hitting the ground rather painfully on his front. He caught himself with his hands extended. Virgil cackled unpleasantly.

And Dominion...Dominion simply vanished. The cavern was left empty without that brightness as if he was never there at all.

Metatron's instinct was golden. Her attention flashed to Virgil and she immobilized him with a binding spell, freezing him in place in the act of advancing towards Balthazar's form again.

"Where is he?" Dante's gaze flew around the cavern. "Where did he go?!"

"What? Who is that?" Raphael said, pulling himself to his feet and rubbing his head as he swiveled around to look at Virgil. "What happened? My head hurts. Who are you? Is that...Is that the Fallen behind all...this?"

Virgil smiled in his direction, despite the spell, he could still speak. "Is that you, Raphael, you deceptive little rat? Here to detain and me and take me back to your flowery heap? Come and get me...Celestial trash."

"Oh, a murderous Fallen that speaks only in taunts and venom. That's a first," said Raphael, dusting himself off. He approached Virgil, his hands held up almost as though in surrender. He cleared his throat and looked from Metatron to Barachiel. "Shall we, then?"

The other two nodded and gave him their consent. Hands held up, they cast the spell. The entire cavern was filled with another whirlwind, much stronger than the one cast on the two Archangels. Simply because it had all of their combined powers within. The scene swirled around everyone in a blur of color and it was with no effort that they were all transported back into the celestial realm.

Metatron had taken them to the mountain. Dante had never seen this place before. Balthazar and himself were dropped unceremoniously on their heads while the rest of them were upright. Virgil stood primly to the side, looking rather bored. His wrists were linked together with celestial steel. The same steel that all swords forged in Heaven were made from. Metatron had released the frozen spell that kept him still and opted for a simple use of binding. His body leaned against a nearby cherry tree that lined the flat surface.

"Raphael, Barachiel, prepare one of the cells below for our prisoner. Make sure the warding spells are up and erect an anti-magic barrier," Metatron ordered.

"Is this the one behind the assault?" Raphael asked, pulling the still form of Virgil up as though he was made of stone. "You removed the binding spell. Do you honestly think these chains will hold him for long? I witnessed his power from the depths of that cave."

"Less talking. Take him down to a cell," said Metatron more pointedly.

"Is this all?" Barachiel asked in his deep tones, eyes on Balthazar and Dante. "These are the only survivors to the field exam?"

"We'll have time to discuss the aftermath of that disastrous exam later. For now...We have to make apprehensions," said Metatron, scowling at him.

Raphael gave her a slight smile. That grin was disturbing. For a leader who had just lost a great deal of elementary recruits to this massive power, he shouldn't have been grinning at all. But he did what she asked, heading towards a large white gazebo where he descended with Barachiel following. There must have been a set of stairs there.

Balthazar pulled Dante to his feet but he kept looking from Metatron to Dante. "General...I'm confused. What are we supposed-"

"I need you to wait down below until we call for you," said Metatron.

"But General-"

"I don't have time for arguments," Metatron interrupted. "Wait down below near the garden. Find your squad members...They're already here...and await my order."

Balthazar pursed his lips, as if he really was planning on arguing, but he grabbed a hold of Dante's arm and began to pull him away.

But Dante was not paying Balthazar any attention. His focus was on Virgil. How long this being had been staring at Metatron. He didn't know where the entity known as Dominion had gone..But how did he know Metatron? Mother, he had called her. What did that mean? Was it mockery? Did Virgil work for this...Dominion? Virgil was looking right back at him too. He could see that slow smile begin to form on his face that reminded him of Raphael's smile just a moment ago. It was like all this didn't matter to him...like he was right where he wanted to be.

And that smelled like a trap.

"General, this isn't the right man, there was another. You saw it. You spoke to it...That...Dominion creature. It was him. This guy's just a pawn. We need to go back and find him. Find out where he went and bring him back here," said Dante imploringly, breaking away from Balthazar's hold.

"Dante...This matter is beyond my hands now. There are too many dead. I have no authority to investigate further when lives are on the line," said Metatron. "We simply cannot afford to lose any more celestials to this cave."

"So we're leaving it be?!" Dante asked incredulously. "General! Something _happened_ back there. Something...I can't... I can't explain. But I felt _something_ from that...being. I felt him like he was...Like he was..."

He was going to say 'familiar'. But what did that sound like? Like they had met before. And he hadn't...He was sure of that...or was he?

There were too many questions in his mind. Just what the hell happened back there? How could he read those names on the walls and what did they mean? Was it Dominion's voice he heard inside his head? And _what_ was Dominion to begin with? Why had he killed all those angels...or why had he let Virgil do it? Dante didn't have much experience with Fallen. The stories said they were deceptive, powerful beings that held all the dark traits of Hell and all the powers bestowed in the past by Heaven. They were extremely dangerous...and yet Virgil seemed to be just the definition of insanity.

Was Virgil Dominion's puppet? Seemed like that one to have a puppet.

Dante didn't understand anything. It seemed like it was just something to mess with his mind. Fallen were rumored to do that too. They flaunted in using mind control powers, and got inside of you. Human or Celestial...and perhaps that was the case...

And yet that didn't seem like a viable explanation.

"We will take care of this situation, Dante. I promise," Metatron assured him.

"Come on, Dante," Balthazar was saying, taking another strong hold on his arm and extending his wings. "We have to go."

"But...But...,"

"Let them handle it, Dante...Come on. Let's...just go down for now," said Balthazar, tugging lightly.

"Coming," Dante answered mechanically, letting himself be dragged as the two of them made the descent to the Garden below.

Virgil was all smiles as Metatron faced his direction. "Not going to put another binding spell on me, Metatron?"

Metatron came close to him. He was taller than her. "You should address me with some respect, Fallen. If it were up to me, I'd have you executed on sight. But I'm not interested in you. I'm interested in the one you serve. The one who commanded you to kill."

"You saw him yourself, didn't you?" Virgil taunted. "You felt his...latent power...the moment you stepped inside the cave. But I'm surprised you didn't recognize your own creation, Metatron."

"I did not _create_ him and I am _not_ his Mother," Metatron snapped.

"You can make your denials. If my calculations are correct, your High Commander is around here, is he not? Why don't you summon him? I'm sure he's _dying_ to see me," said Virgil calmly.

Metatron measured his tone and expression for a long time, eyes squinting as though she was trying to probe in his mind. Which she probably was, in all likeliness. "Why are you here, Virgil? Why have you surrendered to us? You killed those men easily, I know...And you didn't even put up a fight at the end. Is it your wish to die formally at the hands of the Celestial court by execution?"

"Picking a fight with Celestials is a rare opportunity and I admit...a temptation indeed...but let's just say...I'm here for someone,"said Virgil.

"Your master's nature is unpredictable, Virgil. I know that much..." Metatron told him. "That power he holds is too much for just one person."

"If you can correctly define him_ as..._a person...," said Virgil slowly.

"And what would I define _you_ as?" Metatron challenged. Her head tilted. "A pawn? A lackey? A tool? What does he call you? And what purpose does he have in utilizing a Fallen?"

Virgil's lips slowly stretched into a cruel smile. "It must be torture, dear General. It must be torture to know the threat you face enough to fear it greatly...but at the same time, know nothing at all. It must be a great tragedy to believe your greatest threat is Lucifer one day and the next realize you are facing something much more...and then on top of that, to be partly responsible for it."

"Your words are as empty as your essence, Virgil," said Metatron. "And your refusal to answer simple questions speaks volumes. If you do not wish to cooperate with us...then I see absolutely no reason to keep you alive."

"The cage is ready, Metatron," said Raphael from her right. "Shall we take him down?"

Metatron stared at Virgil for a long time, continuing to examine as though she could probe inside his mind and pull the information she desired out of his mind herself.

"Fine," said Metatron with a dismissive hand.

"And an interrogation?" Raphael sounded entirely too enthused for Metatron's tastes.

"Not without Michael," said Metatron. "We need to summon him he-"

"I'm here," Michael's voice came. The Archangel manifested before them in a swirl of golden light. Michael was the most majestic creature to walk Heaven's surface, even when Lucifer was here. He was as rare to see as God was to the common angel...and yet when he did come, his appearance was just as grand.

He stood before them, taller than each angel present and wider with his muscles prominent underneath his golden armor gleaming faintly from Heaven's light. There was a large eagle's crest on his chest plate and high wings extended just as large as Dominion's. Even Michael's skin had a faint golden glow, his hair brown and spiky, almost in disarray with bright green eyes.

"Barachiel, you're dismissed. Check on the survivors down below," said Michael, turning his gaze on the lone Archangel. "The Fallen is going to face trial. I need you to inform the recruits below of the trial...so their evaluation on the 'exam' is delayed."

Barachiel was outraged. "General-"

"Please," said Michael, over him.

Barachiel huffed, but then he extended his wings after a moment and took off down below, following the trajectory that Balthazar and Dante had taken before to the garden.

Raphael crossed his arms. " Are you going to dismiss us as well, General?"

"No, I need you. I need you both," said Michael. He turned from them, headed towards the cells. At the entrance, he stopped, allowing Raphael to descend first.

"General," Metatron stopped him, taking a hold of his elbow. "It was him. The one who appeared...was him."

Michael raised an eyebrow at her. "You mean Lucifer."

Metatron released his arm. "I mean Dominion. The creature born of the Scripture's power. The one released by Lucifer."

"That's not possible," Michael answered immediately. "Our reports indicate that Dominion is still under Lucifer's control."

"And Lucifer's not known for his slip-ups? He would kill us all if given the chance, Michael. Don't be dense," said Metatron impatiently.

"He would not send Dominion. He's too arrogant. He would come himself. Are you sure you did not simply imagine this?"

"I did not," She told him pointedly. " I'm not lying, and I did not hallucinate. One of the survivors from the exam saw him as well. The one below."

"Which one?" Michael's eyes flashed to the garden.

"Dante," said Metatron.

Michael deliberated for a moment, frowning heavily. "And this Fallen we captured? Who is he, then?"

"I don't know," said Metatron shortly. "A follower. A lackey...But not the true power behind this assault. Dominion came, Michael. He wants something from us."

"Let's just talk to the prisoner," Michael placed a hand on her shoulder and leaned close so that no other could catch his words. "This may not be the situation we believe."

"Michael," Metatron started, placing her hand over his and pulling him a few inches closer. "I have kept your secret. When you returned to this realm at full power, I repeated your deception to the court. But I knew better. You were the one who told me the Scripture's power had become sentient in the form of a boy and that his power dwarfed all of ours. Is it possible this is a product of what happened with you? When you...When you were mortal?"

Color drained from Michael's face, and his lips pursed in almost defiance. "It's not possible."

"You told me that Dominion cursed you, Michael. That Lucifer used his power to curse you with a human soul," Metatron pressed. " If Dominion is here...what if he's here for you? To finish it?"

"It's not Dominion," said Michael sharply. "You imagined it."

"I didn't-"

"I will not discuss this matter further, Metatron, but I trust in your discretion," Michael had already turned away, heading down the steps where the darkness from below began to consume his form and he seemed to vanish inside altogether.

Above, Metatron scowled to herself. It took her a moment to compose herself, even though she felt the searing heat of her anger. She hadn't imagined anything...and so far the story could be confirmed through Virgil and Dante alone. She followed Michael's path down below and saw the last cell with a single occupant for Virgil. In addition to the bars, his cell was equipped with an anti-magic field that prevented him from leaving or using any sort of power to escape.

Virgil eyed the three of them with glee. "A whole procession for me? You shouldn't have."

"I don't recognize you, Fallen. Were you so insignificant during your time in Heaven that you had to kill our kind to get our attention?" Raphael taunted.

Virgil smiled at him. "You would hope that, wouldn't you, Raphael? I'm not surprised the three of you don't recognize me. A third of Heaven's legion fell with Lucifer...and that was quite a number if you think about it. It would make sense that Michael would only be concerned with his favorite brother at the time."

Michael raised his chin and crossed his arms. "Why have you killed our kind, Fallen? What purpose did you have in doing so?"

"Do my actions truly warrant an explanation? You'd kill me. I only thought it fair. In fact, didn't you send those soldiers inside to dispense of me? Sounds like you got more than you bargained for. You should know better than to send mediocre novice will-users against a full-fledged Fallen," said Virgil, and he sliced his gaze over all three of them critically. "Seems like poor leadership skills on someone's part."

"Just because we'd do something, doesn't justify a massacre," Michael growled. "And we would not kill you. Every Fallen we've captured since the war has been granted a fair trial."

"Ah, but how many Fallen _survived_? How many were _not_ granted a verdict of execution afterwards?" Virgil countered.

"You killed quite a number of celestials, Fallen," Raphael spat coldly. "You also managed to kill one of our Archangels. Seraphiel. You don't get the right to demand a fair trial. If we wanted to sauté you, extra crispy right here and now...we could do it and there would be no backlash."

Virgil showed no sign of regret or remorse at his words. He just continued to grin at him, the same way Raphael himself did sometimes. "I'm sure you'd enjoy that _far_ more than your comrades would, Raphael."

"Maybe I would," Raphael conceded. "It would certainly put up a good show. The only drawback would be is that would still be too quick for someone like you."

"Enough," said Metatron. "We know you weren't working alone. Such a massacre, it was not the work of just one person. Let alone, a Fallen."

"Metatron-" Michael began.

"I have lived and trained under your sword for centuries, Michael. If there was one thing you have taught me that I will never forget is to never mistrust your own intuition. Now, I saw something with my own eyes...and I know what is true and what is real. Who was the one you serve, Fallen?" Metatron asked without looking away from the Fallen behind the cage.

"Are you talking about that being we both saw, Metatron?" Virgil asked her mildly. He leaned very casually against the wall of the cage, crossing his leg over the other as he did so. "Well...It certainly wasn't just the two of us...That would be absurd...I can't hurt a fly."

"Enough of this," Metatron snapped impatiently, closing the distance between herself and the cage. She gripped the bars and felt the sting as it began to repel her. Her hands would singe, but she didn't care. "Enough of your riddles and banter. You make no sense, Fallen. Tell me who sent you. You're not here of your own accord. You're here because you want something. You're not getting out of this cage. Not even for a 'trial'. Not until you tell us who you work for."

"Metatron, calm down," Michael ordered, stepping with her and grabbing her elbow in an effort to pull her away. But she wouldn't budge.

"No, Michael. It's not him. It wasn't him. Tell me who sent you," Metatron spoke right to the barrier, inches away.

Virgil lunged towards her. His hands went over hers, tight as he kept her in place. They were inches away, his lips almost brushing hers. He whispered words that sounded like they were spoken to a lover. "Name him."

She didn't answer him. Virgil's hands tightened on hers to the point of pain until their fingers ran red. "NAME HIM."

"Dominion," Metatron whispered. "Where is he?"

"Dominion, the being rumored to be born of the Scripture you wrote, Metatron?" Raphael asked, confused. "He's here? Wasn't he captured by Lucifer during the siege? That's what the brat king stole wasn't it, Michael?"

"Yes,"

"What's he doing here?" Raphael asked, turning to Virgil. "Tread carefully when you speak your answers, Fallen. There are limits to my patience for riddles."

"That's a good question. Why don't you ask Dante?" Virgil spoke softly. "He might know...That's who _he's_ here for, you know."

"Leave him out of this. He has nothing to do with you...or Dominion. He was in the wrong place at the wrong time, that is all," said Metatron.

"He's the one you should be holding a trial for. Not me," said Virgil, releasing Metatron and stepping back with a short bout of laughter. "Because that guy? You think I'm bad."

"Dante is a simple recruit. We know our own angels very well," Raphael scowled. "You can stop blame shifting and take responsibility for your actions."

Virgil ignored the snide remark and kept his eyes on Metatron. "Didn't you see the writing on the walls, Metatron? Ask Dante why he could read the names that Dominion left for him. Ask him...how he heard it." At this, Virgil raised a hand to his temple and tapped it twice with two fingers.

"What a fragile alliance you have indeed...if your master abandons you and condemns you to die for him. " Metatron asked. "Is it worth such sacrifice?"

"Of course it's worth it...You do not follow God blindly, as you may think. If that was the case, there would have never been a war. You follow him because you chose to. For some twisted reason, you all believe that our 'Father' deserves such reverence...Such is the case with Dominion. He showed me the way..," Virgil raised his hand as though he was painting the stars with his palm above him. "He showed me the end of all that we know... And the part I had to play...That's all you need to know."

Michael stepped forward then. "That's quite enough out of you. A Fallen's lies is never something to count on. We need to discuss this in a private manner."

Metatron didn't budge though. She kept standing there, her eyes focused on Virgil.

"Metatron, come," said Michael pointedly, shaking her a bit. "This Fallen spews venom and deception as any other of his kind. We all should know better than to fall for their tricks."

She allowed herself to be pulled after a hard tug, letting Michael escort her back to the surface. And still she didn't stop looking directly at Virgil until he was completely out of her sight. She barely registered that Raphael was behind her, trailing slowly as the light of Heaven shone on them once more and they were back on the surface.

Michael allowed Raphael and Metatron to step back just as he let his hand hover over the entrance to the stairs. Another barrier appeared. This one was much more simple and less complex than the barrier that had been placed around Virgil's cell. It was a simple sound barrier that prevented the spoken word, no matter how muffled to be heard below.

"What's there to discuss?" Raphael said first. "He killed the recruits. We kill him. Simple as that. No need for the pretension of a trial, Michael. He's not even denying it. You heard it, yourself."

"You're right, I did but-"

"There's more he knows. We need him alive," said Metatron. "If Dominion is behind this...then we need to reinforce our defense."

"The Fallen seems to think that Dominion is here for the angel Dante," said Raphael speculatively. "Why would that be? And what writing on the wall was he speaking of? I did not see anything during my investigation. Granted it wasn't very thorough..."

He shook his head and frowned. "Why are we so frightened of this...Dominion creature? Such a strange name. So he came from a piece of paper, so what?"

"It's more than a piece of paper, Raphael," said Metatron. "It was meant to balance an entire realm to achieve peace. This power...if it's after us..."

"Give it what it wants," Raphael suggested. "It seems to have taken a liking to the boy. Dante. Offer him."

"We're not barbarians," said Michael sharply, glowering at him. "And we answer to no one but our Father. We will not submit anyone from our kingdom to a monster...If...If it is even Dominion we're speaking of."

"It is. I saw him. Why can't you accept that?" Metatron gave him a scowl.

"Metatron-"

"I'm not a liar, Michael. I saw what I saw. The Fallen is not lying. Dante saw it too. He was there. We're not both lying. It's there. It's right in front of you. Why can't you-"

"BECAUSE I KNOW WHAT HE CAN DO!" Michael roared, right in her face. He took her cheeks with both hands, gripping her hard, to the point of her skin whitening under his touch. "I know what he is. I know what he can do to all of us...You don't. You wrote something under orders. You haven't...seen...Dominion yet. And you should pray you never do. If he wants something from us. He won't hesitate. It won't be for Lucifer. He'll burn Heaven, Hell and Earth to get it."

"Michael. Then...Give him...what he wants," Raphael enunciated slowly. "He wants Dante, according to the Fallen. It's one angel we can live without."

Metatron stared at Michael for a long time, measuring his expression. "You've made your decision, already, haven't you, Michael?"

"I need...I need time," said Michael after a long moment, running his hand through short strands of hair. "Give me time. I'll be back."

And without waiting for a response, Michael took off. His wings extended and he took flight towards the clouds where he vanished soon after.

Raphael turned to Metatron as soon as Michael was clear from their sight. "This Dominion is something serious."

"You have no idea," Metatron murmured.

"If he's so powerful...Imagine harnessing that power. Imagine Heaven having it all," said Raphael.

Metatron turned to look at him. "It is a Heaven power. It was Heaven's before Lucifer managed to steal it."

"All the more reason to take it back. Just think about it, Metatron, and stay with me on this one...We can trap it. Unlock all of it's power...and reform the Scripture. Wouldn't that be the safe thing to do?"

Metatron raised an eyebrow at him. "It's not that easy. If it was...We probably would have sought out Dominion long ago and done it ourselves. He's Dominion. The spells he casts are beyond elementals and things we read in books. The traps, the barriers we use to capture Fallen and Demons...they don't work on him. They will never work on him."

"Here's a fundamental rule to all realms, Metatron. If it bleeds, it can die," said Raphael.

"That would apply to people who can bleed, Raphael. And let's say for argument's sake, that he can't. What then?"

Raphael didn't respond to her. And she took that to consent that she had won the argument. Crossing her arms, she turned away from the sight of where Michael had flown. "We're just going to wait this out. I'm sure Michael will find a solution."

* * *

><p>Michael approached the castle instead. It was said that God Himself sat upon the high throne here at all times.<p>

But all of Heaven wasn't aware of the truth. That God had left. That he had left a long time ago. Around the time Michael made his return to Heaven, was the moment he spoke to his Father. He had told Michael something he never thought he would hear. A prophecy, one could say. But Father so rarely acted in a direct method. Such was his personality.

He merely said that danger was coming, and the entire cosmos would feel it. When balance would return to the realm, He would come back. But he hadn't yet...obviously. After the Scripture was stolen and Dominion was created...and Michael himself was turned mortal by the hands of Dominion and Lucifer...He would definitely qualify all these events as an imbalance indeed.

Michael had failed his Father. He never thought he'd see the day that he'd find the throne room empty. He simply could not bring it in himself to tell everyone else. He was the only Archangel to ever report to Him and he was gone. They were running on his own leadership and what poor leadership it was.

It was such a miraculous occurrence after Dominion turned him mortal. It took him some time to accept his new mortal soul and to accept that he no longer had any ties to Heaven. He expected Heaven to find him, to kill him even. But they never came. They weren't ever. Perhaps they simply had thought he had died after going down to retrieve the stolen Scripture. None of them seemed to suspect after his return what had truly happened.

With the exception of Metatron. She was his star pupil before his 'demise' after all. Metatron asked and badgered..She did not take well to being lied to. The truth was daunting to her. That he had actually embraced the mortal life, aged like one and lived like one...even produced a son.

And that son was lost to him forever. He didn't like thinking about the son he knew for all of two hours before he was taken from him by Lucifer. He had died the night Lucifer came and laid claim to Dean. But since Michael's actions had effected Mary...his appearance in her life...she had died as well. And despite her true death at Lucifer's hands, the literal truth was that Michael had killed her the moment they fell in love.

Heaven was the only place that Michael had seen her again. In the form of a soul with a generated paradise that Michael himself was part of in a dream form. Not long after 'dying', his powers returned to him...but the curse of a human soul had not truly left. He was an Archangel with a soul. The only one of its kind. It was hard to detect in a realm full of souls...but it enabled him to 'feel' more than an angel should. Not that angels didn't feel to begin with...but too often he was thinking about Dean...about Mary...when he shouldn't have at all...when he should have been able to turn it off if he needed to.

The throne room may have been empty. But it did contain one measure of solace.

The Truth Mirror. It was not a mirror in the literal sense. A well would make more sense. The grand entrance hall contained a deep well with water filled to the brim. The water contained holy properties. It could show the person viewing it anything from the past up to the present, no matter where it was. Be it Heaven, Hell or Earth.

It could not, however, show the future. That was the drawback. Perhaps because the future was always uncertain, and always shifting and changing. It was the events of the past and the present that shaped such a thing. There were, after all, infinite possibilities.

He approached the truth mirror, hands gripping the white stone from the edges. Michael saw his own reflection looking back at him. The mirror was waiting for whatever his request was. He had said it a million times...a million and one times perhaps since coming here.

"Show me my son," He said after a long moment. The water changed as though something had been dropped inside it and created several ripples against the smooth surface. He watched his reflection fade into something else. He watched it fade into the castle that was black and a complete, polar opposite to this one. Inside, the mirror took him.

And he saw Lucifer, his long fingers closed around a tiny hand as the little boy gripped him. There was such love in their gaze...both of them. Lucifer had not yet opened the boy's eyes to the reality of his circumstances. He was blinded to the rules...because he never knew the rules, never grew up with parents who could tell him different. This life with Lucifer was all he knew...all he accepted.

He could never know that there was a Father out there that truly loved him and desired nothing more than to see him again..

"Strange how all the powers vested in Heaven cannot make the Mirror show the future,"

Michael whipped around at the sound of that voice. His hand flew to his sword but there was a spell shot of fire that singed his hand and stopped him. He raised his hand, scowling as he looked at the burnt palm, then he looked up to see Dominion himself standing at the entrance to the room, by the high doors.

"Dominion," Michael stated slowly.

"Michael," said Dominion in a mockery of his tone. " Don't you cut a striking figure? For a man who's lost everything, you still have that prideful stride."

"And you...Dominion," Michael answered. "The last time I looked upon you, it was the mortal curse, wasn't it? You have grown since then. The last time I saw you, you were in the form of a boy, were you not? I see you've branched out."

"Experience strengthens the mind and the body," said Dominion lightly. He stood off the edge of the door and made his approach. The light that covered his body began to fade with every step he took, revealing more of the actual being underneath.

He did look like a young man now with brown hair that was slightly long, and prominent dark eyes. His clothes were that of a Fallen...but he was not a Fallen, despite the large black wings made of fire. His power stretched beyond that of any normal angel...of anything that Michael had ever seen.

And it was with a pang that he knew he was in part, a contributor to Dominion's immense power.

"The usual rules don't apply to me, Michael. They never have," Dominion continued, placing a hand on the edge of the mirror same as him. He looked bored, if anything. "You should know that by now...and what I represent."

"Did Lucifer send you?" Michael asked. He was trying to keep it light...but his eyes, despite everything, flashed to the exit. He didn't want to run...but he was fairly confident a fight with Dominion would not end well, not for him, and not for the realm as a whole.

"Lucifer," Dominion repeated, amused. "I have not seen Lucifer in quite some time. But you know, I was never under his employ. He may have had some measure of control over me for a bit of time...but when I left him, it was of my own accord, and on rather amiable terms."

"So you condone what you've done under his association. What you did to me," said Michael.

"Are you complaining, Michael? If I had not turned you mortal, you would have never had the luxury of love and family in your existence. You would have simply died. Would you have preferred that?" Dominion's eyes flashed to the water from the mirror. "Would you have preferred that you never saw your son again?"

"I am_ not_ seeing my son, as you can see. Only through here, I can. My son and my wife are gone. They were taken from me. _You_ had the power to stop Lucifer from destroying our family. Your power was greater than his, and you did not," Michael fumed angrily.

Dominion continued to look amused. He didn't look at all affected by these accusations. "You must have been cursing my name indeed...to blame me for your misfortunes. Have you considered perhaps that the reason that circumstances are what they are ...is because they must be? There are greater things at work, my friend. And certain things had to have happened in order for others to come to pass. It's as simple as that."

"I don't have time for your riddles," said Michael impatiently. "And I don't want justification. What's happened has happened and I can't dwell on the past. But-"

"You should strive to follow that self-advice, Michael," Dominion interrupted, stepping away from the mirror and approaching Michael's back as he stayed facing the mirror.

"Regardless," said Michael pointedly, turning to face him so he could keep him in his sights. "You're here for a reason...if you're free from Lucifer...whatever. I don't care if he wasn't controlling you. That makes it worse...but _regardless_. You want something from here."

Dominion smiled at him. "What do you think I'm here for, Michael? Didn't Virgil make that abundantly clear?"

"Dante," said Michael, nodding slowly. "What do you want with him, Dominion? He's not even a soldier of the legion."

"For you. But he's very important to me," said Dominion, as if that settled the matter.

"So what, you want me to give up one of my soldiers to you...For you to do...what with him?" Michael asked.

"Technically," Dominion raised a finger. "As you said...He's not a soldier. Not yet. You have yet to evaluate that field exam, right? But no, I don't want you to release him to...me...per say. I want you to release him though, surely."

"That doesn't make sense," said Michael.

"Sure it does. I want you...and your heavenly brigade to exile Dante into the mortal plane," said Dominion, pointing directly below him with that same finger. "Well...perhaps exile him is putting it too...nicely. I want you to excommunicate him. Burn his wings. You know, the traditional way before all your execution conviction act came through."

"What?!" Michael hissed, outraged. "Why would I do that? He's done _nothing_ wrong. _Nothing_ to warrant excommunication. You know what happens to angels who Fall?"

"They become Fallen," Dominion raised an eyebrow at Michael like he thought he was dense. "Obviously."

"He's just a...He's just a-"

"A boy? No. He's not your son and he's not your responsibility. He's a potential soldier. And let's admit it, quite unexceptional," said Dominion. "You have absolutely no use for him."

"I will still not exile him. On what grounds?" Michael snapped. "What am I supposed to tell my men?"

"Well, you have a Fallen named Virgil...and you have a celestial named Dante on your hands. Be creative, Michael. You could very easily take the easy route and execute Virgil on the grounds of killing all those participants to your exam...or you could excommunicate the two of them. My Fallen will take it from there," said Dominion shrugging. He held up his hands, palms up as if to show Michael the options he could weigh in.

"Your Fallen will kill him," said Michael through his teeth.

"Please," Dominion chuckled. "Would I honestly go through all this trouble just to have him die? No, it's very essential that you exile him and let him Fall."

"Why is it to essential to you, and why should I even do what you ask? I don't owe you anything. And you have no right to this place...No tie to hold me down," said Michael. "I may die killing you, Dominion, but I can kill you."

"Hehehe...What, if you try really hard? I don't have any ties on you, Michael, you're right," Dominion conceded. "But you must understand...that you can't kill me. None of you can. The combined power in Heaven cannot kill me. The only way to be rid of me...is to break me...and that's not on you to do."

"But I can," Michael countered. He pulled his sword from it's sheath. "This is my sword. The Sword of Justice. It can destroy any living being at my will. Even you. I made it such that it could and it is bent to my will."

"You mean this sword," One moment the sword was very solid and present in Michael's hand and the next, Dominion was holding it as though it had been _there_ the entire time. "Clever. But I wouldn't bank on you being able to take this back from me."

"Give it back. NOW," Michael growled.

"You want an incentive, then here it is," said Dominion, letting the sword hand fall and leaving his right up. A black orb the size of a golf ball appeared floating above his palm. He curled his fingers just a bit and the orb magnified to the size of a baseball. "Do you know what this is? Do you recognize it? No, I would assume you don't. You saw my power once before, Michael...and it was a very small piece of it. This spell...is not of your world. It is one of my own making. I even gave it a very special name...I call the substance Dark Matter...and the spell in which it breathes? Armageddon."

"I need only to _drop_ it in the plane of my choice and that realm will break upon my command. Every life form here, including yourself, will breathe their last breath. And Heaven will simply no longer exist. Take that into consideration for just a moment. I want you to think about that really hard and really long. Imagine the world existing without the celestial plane. Imagine a place where no soul of righteous path can tread. Imagine what your Father would say upon His return," Dominion tilted his head when Michael looked startled. "Oh, did you think I did not know? You may have all of Heaven fooled under your charade, Michael...But I am not so blind to the fact that your Father abandoned you and your entire army."

Michael's eyes flickered from the spell in Dominion's hand to his face. "You're bluffing. You wouldn't drop that spell if you want Dante."

"Do you _really_ want to test that theory? Let's say the spell has a fail safe. Gives me enough to grab the celestial and drop him from Heaven's gate myself. But not nearly enough time for you to order an evacuation. You're fast, Michael, but I have your weapon in my hand. Can you say your exceptional combat skills have passed onto your men?" Dominion asked him.

"You won't-"

"I will," said Dominion sharply. "Don't test me. This wouldn't be the first realm that's fallen to my devastation, trust me. You've made the mistake before of picking your family over your place in Heaven. Do you wish to make the same mistake again? All those lives upon your head, knowing you had the opportunity to stop it?"

Michael clamped his lips together tight, his glare becoming more pronounced. He started to shake, rage getting the better of him. He closed his eyes for a moment and faced down. After an eternity, he opened his eyes, and felt the defeat touch his voice. "If I do this for you...What happens? You leave...and I never hear of your threat on this world again? Is that a term that I can add?"

"You do this for me...and you live, Michael. I think that should suffice. I don't necessarily need you alive, you know," said Dominion in a matter-of-fact tone. "You fulfilled your purpose awhile ago."

"And what purpose would that be?"

"You created a monster, Michael," said Dominion with no inflection, just stating fact. He allowed the spell in his hand to change into a different spell, green in color. That one, he did drop. The entire altar changed around them, enlarging and becoming a throne that was by no means anything like God's...but quite the opposite. Yet one Michael recognized. "You created him."

And 'him' became a being on the green throne. And Michael saw what could be his own self on that throne. But it was not him. It was a younger version, it seemed.

"...Dean," Michael murmured after he finally realized.

"I can give you something that this mirror could never give you. A glimpse into the future. Behold your son. Carved by your making, by your actions, the King of Hell," said Dominion slowly. "But you've known this inevitability to occur, Michael. You've known for some time. It must be torture, to dwell in a land filled with nothing but purity and bliss and live knowing you can never have your son."

"There is no need to taunt me," Michael growled, taking his eyes off the image, while Dominion let it disappear as soon as he did. "I know my circumstance. But my question to you is this...What do you need of him? Or Dante for that matter?"

"To do exactly what they are meant to do, Michael. I can say little more than that...," At this, Dominion looked away, and for some reason, Michael could see a strange sadness in his face. He had been all mockery and boasting up until now. And now the expression seemed to match the underlying expression that Michael had felt in Dominion's voice with every word.

Dominion tossed the sword towards Michael who caught it at the hilt. "Remember my terms, Michael."

Michael stared at him, but Dominion had already extended his flaming wings to curl around him in a tight embrace where the solid figure inside vanished and was replaced by black smoke trailing light red lightning. It became smaller and smaller the longer Michael watched until there was nothing but a small wisp that remained, slowly dissolving into nothingness, as if it never was.

Michael placed his hand over his forehead and sighed. He couldn't believe what he had agreed to do. With another sharp exhale of breath, he eyed the empty throne that was once occupied by his Father. Many times he had come here for counsel on a decision or to carry out a decision. The last order his Father had ever given him was to deliver the Scripture to the mortal plane. Did Father know then what that would entail? He was all-knowing. So He should have foreseen all this.

And Michael wondered why He would allow such a thing to exist like Dominion. As powerful or nearing His own power.

He turned from the throne and left the throne room empty as it always had been, descending to the structure he had been before where Metatron and Raphael still were, waiting for him.

"Did you come to a decision?" Metatron asked when Michael approached.

Michael walked past the two of them, keeping his expression smooth. "Father gave me His orders."

"And?" Raphael prompted.

"He has reason to believe that the boy, the celestial who participated in the field exam, Dante...was responsible for the events that occurred there," said Michael in a blank voice.

"What?!" Metatron cried. "You cannot be serious. We have a confession from the Fallen we brought."

"He was working in league with him. Dante and Virgil set up the attack in secret during one of Dante's visits to the mortal realm on patrol," Michael explained. "We have no choice. It was why Virgil wanted Dante...To reunite with him."

"I knew it," said Raphael. "I knew that so-called 'celestial' Dante couldn't have been important to Virgil without reason. Well, now we know."

"So...We're going to execute him?" Metatron asked, frowning at Raphael. "That's insane. Michael, he didn't do anything. He was just...there. Wrong place, wrong time."

"No...We're going to exile Virgil and Dante to the mortal plane," said Michael.

"Exile is quite...It's not enough, is it?" Raphael muttered. "Execution is better. If we release them, they'll just cause trouble as all Fallen do."

"That won't be our problem," said Michael. "Not now. Exile is a permanent punishment. If we are to face them again, it would be as though facing any other Fallen on the mortal plane. They will no longer be a threat."

"And Father told you this?" Metatron's tone was calm, but Michael could heard the skepticism. "Father told you to condemn an innocent."

"That is what He has ordered, yes," Michael confirmed.

"And a trial?" Metatron's bright orange eyes narrowed. "Not even that?"

"Of course there will be a trial," said Michael. "But the verdict is quite obvious."

"Allow me to do the honors," said Raphael. "No one makes a fool out of me for long. I can take at least partial blame, Michael. It was my lack of capabilities that prevented the survival of the other recruits."

Well, Michael fell for that. Raphael's pouty lips and his 'forlorn' expression was enough that the General approached and placed a hand on his slumped shoulders. "It's okay, Raphael...I do not blame you."

Metatron crossed her arms. Her face had reddened a bit and she seemed to be barely containing her anger. She hadn't blown a gasket and started unneccesary destruction yet. Metatron was superb at controlling all elements. And yet it was all tied to her emotion, as all magic was.

"If you could, Raphael," said Michael, presenting him the view of the garden below. Raphael smiled at him before he extended his wings and took flight to the plane down below.

Michael made to follow but Metatron caught his elbow rather hard and tugged him back a few inches. They were close enough that Metatron searched his eyes very briefly as if probing and pulling for the truth. "What happened during your time of reflection? The Michael I know would never condemn an innocent to such a fate."

"It is Father's-"

"You're lying, Michael," said Metatron over him. "I can feel it. I don't need to place a truth spell to make your tongue speak honestly."

"I'm not lying," said Michael coldly.

"Dante is not the one we should punish. It's Dominion. We need to find him. Don't you realize that this is feeding into his hands? The Fallen below...Virgil...He wants Dante...Why are you doing this? Why?" Metatron asked, practically begged.

"I do what I have to, Metatron. To ensure the survival of our men. Prepare for the trial. I expect you to act accordingly," said Michael in a brisk tone. And he leaned close to her. "And leave your personal feelings out of it."

* * *

><p>"Well that was nothing short of catastrophic," said Zach, leaning against the base of the tree while the other four remained around him. Anna was sitting cross-legged, keeping to herself. Uriel stood stoic by his side while Dante and Balthazar paced on opposite lines, exchanging little dialogue with one another.<p>

"Thank you for stating the obvious," said Dante sarcastically. He stopped mid-step and ran his hands over his short strands of hair.

"What do you think they're going to do to us?" Uriel asked the other four. "Do you think we failed the exam?"

"Oh, who cares about the exam," Dante snapped. "People are dead. I wouldn't be surprised if they put us all in solitary."

"What's solitary?" Zach asked, puzzled.

"Human terminology in their prisons. When a prisoner misbehaves, they throw him in solitary confinement to reflect on his actions," Dante explained impatiently. "Not so unlike what they do here to begin with."

"You spend too much time down there," Uriel commented. "It's getting to your head. Why would they put us in the prison? We've done nothing wrong. As far as I know.."

And for some reason, his gaze was very pointed on Dante and Balthazar.

"News flash. We didn't have anything to do with what happened either, Uriel," said Dante scathingly.

"Maybe," said Uriel.

"Enough," said Balthazar, also stopping his pace line and looking up towards the sky. "Look, there's General Raphael. Stand at attention."

Anna got to her feet and joined the other four as they all stood upright in a single line, completely still. Raphael landed before them, towering over each one. Strange that he looked so much bigger without the rest of the soldiers filing in rank. His eyes swept over them, and his gaze was not very kind.

"Squad B. You are the only survivors of the field exam we just participated in. We've evaluated the situation and come to a decision. We're working right now on dividing ranks among you and deciding where you will be going..-"

"Sir?" Balthazar interjected. "Are you saying...Are you saying that we all passed the exam, sir?"

Raphael looked directly at him. "Marginally. Barely. Hardly. Whatever term you want to use. But yes, you passed. At least...to some degree. Balthazar. Uriel. Zachariah. Annael. You are all dismissed. Return to the training grounds and await your new orders."

The other three began to move, but Balthazar didn't budge an inch. He glanced at Dante. "Sir...What about Dante, sir?"

"I don't recall giving a follow-up instruction, Balthazar," said Raphael smoothly.

"But sir," Balthazar protested.

"It's okay, Balthazar," said Dante in a calm voice, pressing a hand to his shoulder. "It's okay...It's probably to talk about what I saw. You go on. I'll be there soon."

"Dante," Balthazar locked eyes with him and very slowly, his head shook.

"It's okay," said Dante again.

Balthazar looked from the two of them quickly. His gaze lingered on his friend longer than necessary. He turned away from both of them after a long moment and headed down the same way that his comrades had gone. Dante watched him with a feeling of trepidation. He didn't know what he was feeling...Despite his time on the mortal realm, and the various aspects he had learned, there was still some emotion he had yet to understand. This one, he could rightfully attribute as fear.

Raphael took his arm as soon as the other angel was out of earshot and his grip was tight and hard, cutting off Dante's bloodflow. Without much gentility, he wrenched Dante forward. His voice was low and harsh, spewing venom. " You may have your comrades fooled, but you do not fool us, Dante."

"Wh-What?!" Dante sputtered. "What do you mean? I didn't do anything."

"Of course you didn't," said Raphael mockingly. He took off then, dragging Dante along with him. He took him to a place higher than the place where the cells were, but below the place where God sat upon the throne. It was a place where the Archangels dwelled...usually during a trial. Another flat surface on the mountain with several chairs high.

There were several seats there for each angel. One for Michael, for Raphael, for Gabriel, for Metatron, for Seraphiel, for Barachiel. Michael's was the highest seat there, and each was color coded according to that General's banner. Seraphiel's seat was empty and of course Gabriel's was as well. But the rest of the seats were occupied by the Archangels that Dante knew.

It was not the seat that intimidated him. It was the being that was chained to the ground in front of them. Dante had never been here before, had only heard of the aftermath of trials. There were black chains coming from the white marble floor linking Virgil to the ground by his wrists and ankles.

Raphael pushed Dante with an extended wing and he stumbled forward next to the Fallen, his palms flat on the ground. The cold metal slunk up and clamped around his wrists and ankles as well.

"What-?!" Dante wanted to ask, turning around, but Raphael had already took off and taken his place on his seat.

"Do you know why we have called you here?" Michael's voice came from above.

"No," said Dante.

"OOH, I know!" Virgil shouted, raising his bound wrist. "You want to play 'pin-it-all', right? Is that right?"

Michael, even from high above, seemed to scowl. "We have called you here to read you your charges and execute a proper sentence."

"SENTENCE?!" Dante bellowed. "What have I done? I've done nothing."

"You've done everything," Virgil said in a sing song voice. "Eveeeeeryyyythiiiing."

"Shut up, Fallen," Dante snapped. "Generals. I did not do anything. I swear. I was in the cave just the same as the others...Confused...hurt...hurt that so many died."

"Hurt because you killed them?" came Raphael's mocking tone.

"What?! I didn't kill anyone, I swear. I didn't. Please. Ask my squad, they were there with me. Ask Balthazar," Dante's eyes swept the seats and he found Metatron. "General, you were heading my squad. You know I didn't do this. I couldn't have. How could I have overpowered everyone? How could I have used that power on General Raphael and Barachiel?"

"We're not giving you full credit, Dante," said Barachiel in his booming tone. "We know you have been in league with the Fallen here. The two of you have been working together to conspire the death of countless celestials."

"Do you have any idea how insane that sounds?!" Dante growled. "Me? Working with him? I just met him today! And wasn't the field exam a sort of spur-of-the-moment gig? How the hell would I know he was even going to be there?"

"Enough," said Michael in his commanding tone, standing up, so he towered even more than the height he was already at. "Your charges are as follows. Treason and Conspiracy. High Treason in the murder of several of our angels. Conspiracy in working with a Fallen."

"I-I-I...You can't be serious! I never met this Fallen before today!" Dante said, outraged. "I've never seen him before the mission, I swear!"

"Allegedly," said Virgil unhelpfully. "Dante and Virgil has a nice ring to it, Dante, don't you agree?"

"Shut up!" Dante snarled at him, and then his eyes turned pleading towards Michael. "General, please. I didn't do anything. It was that...that thing, I saw. I swear. The one called Dominion. Metatron, you saw it too."

"You will address your commanding offices as either Ma'am or General, celestial," said Raphael sharply. "Show _some_ respect while you're on trial. This may very well be your last moments."

Metatron's face betrayed nothing. She looked down at Dante and Virgil with the same expressionless look that everyone else was giving them. It unnerved Dante.

"We show no record of a Dominion there...and there is no being by that name in existence," said Raphael. "Lies can only take you so far, Dante. Perhaps you should take a leaf out of your comrades' book and simply accept your punishment."

"NO!" Dante screamed. The chains around him tightened to the point of pain. "I will NOT accept anything! I didn't do it! I didn't kill them!"

The chains cut into skin now, shrinking skin down to bone. More appeared, going underneath Dante's armor and forming an X across his spinal cord, forcing him back. His wings pulled out reflexively. When he looked up, all Archangels were standing now. Their hands were extended towards him.

In the next moment, Dante felt almost nothing. Then one by one, a beam of light shot straight towards Dante. He felt it hit, not him directly, the target was his wings. Every single white feather that was attached to the bony structure that held his wings in place began to pull away as though swept up in a storm. The pain made him scream, made him curl and grab himself. He tried to touch them, but felt only blood where he touched. It was like skin being peeled down to the bone. He screamed and screamed. Screamed for mercy, screamed for them to stop. But they did not. They would not. They did not stop until Dante was left, crouched over next to Virgil in a huge puddle of himself, his wings reduced to thin bone, a ghost of what they once were.

And the first thing he saw as he raised his head, was a flash of silver and Virgil's face peering at him with a sick smile on his face. "Painful...yes?"

Dante growled and lashed out. But it was not towards Virgil, who moved just in time. The chains restricted his wrist and feet but his body was still jutting out as he glowered right up at Michael.

"You...You...You did this to me," Dante said, eyes locked onto Michael. "You...You did it...I'm going to make you pay. I'm going to make you PAY! DO YOU HEAR ME, MICHAEL?!"

"Take them out of here! Now!" Michael ordered, just as two angels ascended from the sky, soldier ranks and grabbed both Dante and Virgil dragging them both out of sight and away. All the while Dante's voice did not lower, he kept his stream of curses and threats for Michael until he was taken to the gate where the inevitable Fall waited for him.


	10. Inferno Part I

_ I don't remember the day I was created._

_I was just there. Born to do what I was meant to do. _

_I don't remember the first time I took the hand of someone dear._

_And embraced the Light that came from the Heavens._

_I remember the day I walked in Shadow._

_I remember the day I embraced the darkness._

Falling was the last thing an angel felt.

And that was the last thing Dante felt when the angels pushed him off the path where the trail ended and there was nothing but the abyss below. Small structures that showed _something_ down below.

It was slow, the fall. Everything was muted as an angel. He had sensation, but not to this level. He felt every gust of wind as gravity inevitably pulled him downward, faster than the speed of light. To a human, he'd look like a comet descending upon Earth at a rapid rate.

His thoughts went to what happened. The rage was there, mingled with the loss of he had done to get where he was. The flashes of the field exam flared in his mind. That bright being that called itself Dominion...the counsel of Archangels using the spell to tear his wings...and Virgil. Virgil was laughing at him.

Dante's last thought was of Balthazar, ironically enough. His old friend would wonder where he was going. He wondered if the Archangels would tell him the truth. General Raphael seemed all to happy with his sentence. No doubt he'd find a reason to gloat about it as much as possible. He'd never see his old friend again...and maybe he was laughing at him from above.

Well, that didn't really sound like him either.

Each second passed, he felt his powers slowly pull away. The link to Heaven, the protection it gave him was gone. Invisibility, the ability to control the elements and manipulate Will...and the wings that gave him flight. It was being torn from him. The fall should have killed him when he made impact.

But it didn't. He felt it at all. The smell of grass and dirt, too strong in his mouth and his nose, the feel of that softness on his cheek, tickling as he remained flopped on his front. His wings may have been stripped from him, but the bone, the bones that made them up before had not yet broken. They extended from his back at awkward angles, the only part of his body that made him look like he had begun a slow decay.

His armor began to fade...The last bit of magic he felt was the last of his protection fading as he laid naked in the grass, curled on his front.

Dante felt raindrops..and then..nothing.

* * *

><p>Dante's eyes took a moment to adjust to extreme brightness. He blinked and felt moisture form at the corners, blurring his vision. There was a light above him. The sun? He didn't feel the heat from it. He was lying down. Something soft but not very comfortable. As if it was damaged somehow, patched and frayed. There was an uncomfortable tingle on his lower back like he was lying on some tissue paper over the uncomfortable bed as well.<p>

Something moved the light and Dante squinted as his eyes began to pop. He was no longer naked as he remembered. There was a dress on him. The garment felt considerably lighter than what he was used to in armor.

"Ah, you're awake," said a voice that Dante had never heard before. His eyes adjusted onto a figure standing over him with jet black hair and a glint from glasses wearing white. The longer he looked, the more he could see. It was a doctor's coat. This was a human hospital. The doctor had a pointed face and a slight stubble, sharp eyebrows and a sharp nose. He looked no older than to be in his early thirties. Dante read the name badge that had a small picture of a younger version of the doctor and the last name "Dr. McLeod" on the end of it.

"Who...What...What have you done to me?" Dante asked in a weary voice. "Is this one of those sick human experiments? Get off me."

And Dante actually made to sit up, and felt a very hard twinge of pain behind him. His eyes flew to two large silhouettes coming behind him held up by various clamps that were covered by white sheet. His wings.

"Easy," said Dr. McLeod, pushing Dante back on the bed to lie flat. "You've been through some type of ordeal, take it easy, all right? Do you remember anything about what happened?"

Dante blinked and his mind took him back to everything. He struggled with the weight of the memories surging in his mind. Too painful...Too many all at once. He didn't want to focus on anything in particular.

"No. Where am I?" Dante shook his head.

Dr. McLeod seemed to hesitate in answering him. "Well...The official reports say you fell...A local found you lying in his field...felt like you were dead. When we brought you here, we of course knew you weren't dead. Your heartbeat is slowed...but it is there. Your pulse as well...When they rushed you in, I thought it was a prank...or a chemical reaction...but then I saw the truth...coming from right behind you."

Dr. McLeod leaned down on him, placing both hands on either side of Dante, leaning down and forcing the former angel down a little bit. "So that simply begs the question, as you know...What exactly...are you, Mister John Doe?"

Dante pursed his lips, glowering at him. "None of your concern..._human."_

Dr. McLeod smiled. " That's a venomous tone if I ever heard one. You're not human, I guessed that much. You're something else. Alien? No, you have a blood type. It's rare. O. But it's a blood type. You're something else. With bones like these protruding out of your spinal cord, I can only guess."_  
><em>

Dr. McLeod left him then and took to lean against a vacant spot on his counter where there were several white cabinets that remained locked and closed. "The question is...what? And what are you willing to give _me_ to keep my silence?"

Dante couldn't believe what he was hearing. He stared at the human like he was insane. There was plenty of stories on how low humans were. How the things they fought over were always trifles that no one truly needed and none of it really mattered. Lives lost in the past for petty causes and riches they would enjoy only for a short time.

It came as a surprise to him to learn that the first human he came in contact with was a prime example of why humanity was sometimes looked down on by Heaven. He took a quick look around the room. With his eyes completely adjusted to the bright light, he found himself realizing this was not a normal emergency room. Would there not be more individuals around? This was somewhere underground. He looked to the northwest corner of the room where there was a set of stairs, probably spiraling up several floors to the actual ground floor. He felt a slight breeze from that area, given his lack of clothing. There were several other cabinets lining the walls and more counter tops full of supplies of who knew what.

And there was a smell. Dr. McLeod had attempted to dilute it with the smell of cleaning chemicals. But underneath the surface, there was something else. Dante's senses were much duller than they had been. If he was back to full power, he could smell it immediately. There had been blood here. There had been massive quantities of blood extracted and flesh cut open and possibly burnt in later experiments.

Then Dante took stock of his own situation as an individual. He hadn't felt it before because Dr. McLeod had given him some room to maneuver, if only just. There was a belt strap across his wrists, not tight, but as he moved his wrists in the confines, he could see it was impossible to pull out of completely. He tugged a bit on the slippery, leather material and slid them up his hands where the tissue became prominent and thick, but no matter how much he tried, it wasn't going to come off.

There was two more belt straps to his ankles, making his feet numb. He couldn't feel that immediately either. His feet had probably fallen fast asleep in his slumber...and they were rendered almost useless. That irritated Dante some. So even if he _was_ free, it wouldn't have made much of a difference if he'd be using all his upper body strength to carry the rest of himself around. He may as well hit the security alarm voluntarily on his way out.

"What am I going to give you?" Dante repeated back to the human, struggling just a bit, if only because he was uncomfortably aware of these restraints. "_What do you mean_, what am I going to give you?"

"Well," McLeod pretended to think. "Well, you wouldn't want me blabbing about the freakshow, would you...to all the wrong people? That might be too much strain on this poor town. They'd tie you down...with _worse_ restraints than those, I can tell you...and snap pictures of you all day."

Dante blinked and raised one eyebrow. "Oh, but is that the _worse_ thing that can happen?"

"No, no...," McLeod grinned at him in such a sick way that Dante was reminded of Virgil. "The worse thing is you die...but I wouldn't make it painless, I can assure you, Mister John Doe."

"No, you'd draw it out," said Dante, as though he was expecting as much. "Of course. Because I'm not your first one, am I? How many others have you brought down here?"

McLeod sighed, removing his glasses and beginning to wipe them with the hem of his shirt. "And would you believe that you _are_ my first one? That I believe an investment in you is the star way to go? Trust me when I say...No one else knows you're down here...John Doe."

"I'm surprised your fellow staff members have been thus unaware of this...mad scientist persona you have adopted. Do you wish to be a star, Doctor?" Dante asked, working to keep the mockery out of his tone.

"No, I want something more. As I was saying. You're not an alien...You're surely not a mutant. You're something else. What, I can guess, but you'd probably laugh at me...but you know what's funny, Mister Doe? When you were brought in, I thought I was going insane. Surely, everyone else could see what I could. Surely everyone else..."

He approached Dante then, his feet barely making any noise on the tile. "Knew."

"Knew...what," said Dante slowly.

McLeod grabbed a hold of one of the covered silhouettes that shielded his bony wings from plain sight. The grip made Dante cringe as though McLeod had twisted the bone into ash. Dante lunged and felt the restraint of those wrist bands more so than ever.

"About these...They're such curious contraptions. When I first saw them, I thought you were some moron who had tried to strap wings to yourself and try to fly...and then I saw your x-ray...and I knew it was real. But it was curious that no one else could see it. No one could see what I could see...and even now, they wouldn't see what I'm holding here," said McLeod curiously tightening his grip. "Come to find out that these are real...and you're something else."

Mercifully, he let Dante go and stepped back, a finger on his lip. "So, I can see it. _You_ can feel it...and they're there...I know...You're not a bat man...Though that would be quite ironic..."

So all in all, he could see Dante's wings. That was rare for a human. To human eyes, they should have looked just like them. Maybe with a slight glow. But faith in God and Heaven had diminished so much that rightfully, almost no one could see the true form of angels...and these bone protrusions in Dante, these former wings were still gifts from Heaven. McLeod seeing them was strange.

"I'm not a bat man," said Dante as if the term insulted him greatly. "What you perceive that no one else can perceive...is a mark of God. It requires strong faith to be able to see my wings. And I find it ironic myself that someone like _you_ can see them."

" 'Someone like me'?" McLeod laughed. "What, is that supposed to insult me? I figured you would be an angel. I figured you would exist. Why not? Even those who say they believe, in their heart of hearts, they truly do not. God...Heaven...angels...They come from textbooks for them, from the movies and from the word of mouth of parents' who _also..._don't believe. What surprises you is not so hard to understand. I believe because I have my reasons, but they're not like you would think."

"No, I imagine not," Dante agreed coldly.

"God took away my family, John Doe. When God did that, I cursed God. My belief does not stem from faith in the most easiest sense. It stems from hate. Because I hate God. I hate what He represents...and I hate what he creates. That He would give me a life to live all alone. My family was murdered you see. Wrong place...wrong time? My wife...my son...all gone...and so I'm left with nothing. So you asked me...what I want from you," McLeod circled to stand at the foot of Dante's bed and there he reached into his coat pocked and drew out a black pistol, pointing directly at Dante's heart. "I want compensation. I want you to pay me back for what you took from me."

"Look, you psychopath," Dante began. "I didn't do anything to you. And nor, for that matter, did God. You need to calm down. Things happen. People die. Maybe you should spend more time mourning your loss and moving on rather than holding a grudge against Heaven. It's clearly...not gotten you anywhere good."

"But you'll do just fine," said McLeod, ignoring Dante's 'advice', seeming to speak to himself. "You're an angel. I know the bible like the back of my hand. Which one are you? Is it Raphael? Gabriel? Michael?"

At Michael's name, Dante's face soured. "It's Dante."

"Dante. Kind of like _Dante's Inferno_?" McLeod asked.

"Yeah. Kind of like that," said Dante slowly.

"So the angel Dante graced me with his presence," said McLeod, giving a mocking bow as though in respect. "So Dante...let's get back to what you owe me."

Dante chuckled. Really. The audacity of this guy. But McLeod was not sharing his smile. He walked around the edge of the bed until he was right in front of Dante again, the tip of the gun pressed to his chest.

"I...want..."

But he broke off when there was a resounding crash from was hard enough that the roof shook, cracking the plaster and allowing dust to seep through new cracks. McLeod pulled away from Dante, looking puzzled as he stared up at the ceiling.

"What was that? Was that an Earthquake?" He asked himself.

There was a beat of silence. And then Dante heard the first scream. Loud and piercing to his ears. It was not a scream you could hear in a human movie that had no true or real fear behind it. It was real, enough to chill your blood to freezing level. More screams followed. More booming crashes that shook the foundation of this lab...or hospital or wherever the hell they were.

"What is that?! What's going on?!" McLeod shouted furiously. And he darted towards the stairs where there seemed to be an intercom plugged into the wall. He hit the red button and spoke into the speaker. "Security, this is Doctor McLeod from the MD level. What is going on upstairs?"

Meanwhile Dante began to fiddle with the straps on his wrists. He bent his hand at an awkward inward angle that could have broken his wrist. But he pushed it to the limit, digging his fingernails into the leather where he desperately began to pull and scrape as much of the restraint as he could.

A voice came on the other side of the intercom, low and cruel. But a voice that sent chills down Dante's spine. "I've come for the Fallen."

Virgil.

But it was McLeod who was closer, and he who answered. "The...The what?! What's going on?! Identify yourself!"

There was no answer but another crash and scream from above that sent another wave of screams streaming down below to them.

McLeod turned around at once and rounded on Dante. But when he looked upon the bed that he had Dante strapped to, he found it empty. The straps had been ripped open and there were sheets strewn on the ground where he had hidden the angel's wings.

"Dante," said McLeod, stepping forward and clicking the hammer back on his pistol. "You don't have to run from me, Dante. We have so much to work through."

He was speaking to the room as a whole, but his eyes went to a slightly ajar door in the corner of the room that led to the huge supply room. He knew what was in there. Not an exit door for sure. Not even an elevator. MD level could only be reached by the stairs and Crowley was right in front of them. It was not a floor used often, and he planned to be done with Dante by the time anyone came to investigate. He had moved around the angel so much the last few days he had been passed out, that it was becoming second nature to simply take it somewhere else.

He pushed open the door to the supply room, immediately checking his left and his right, pointing the gun in both directions. What faced him was what could look like a factory. Boxes and crates were stacked up to the ceiling. These supplies were for the most part, expired. They had a better supply room upstairs, or actually, on every floor. These were scheduled to be dumped out...when the hospital got time for all that. It wasn't bothering anyone.

But the smells were overwhelming. Different smells like expired morphine and sanitizers filled his nostrils and he wouldn't be surprised if the potent scents shrivelled his nose hair down to the skin.

"Dante," McLeod said in a sing-song voice. "Don't get scared. I swear I won't hurt you."

He stepped inside further. "That one upstairs." McLeod paused when he heard another crash. This one was extremely close now. The suspect must have been right above them now. McLeod kept walking, turning corners at random as he went deeper into the room."Looking for you, isn't he? For the 'Fallen'? So you're _not_ an Angel as one may believe."

"That's okay, Dante. I'm not fussed. Same rules apply. You do me a favor, and I let you go. It's as simple as that. But what you're dong right here? Right now? Not going to work out for you, friend. You need to step out of the shadows and face me. You keep doing this...and I will shoot you. And you will die. Trust me. From this bullet, you will."

He paused then, letting the silence seep in so Dante could comprehend his threat. He walked past several rows of boxes containing peroxide before something grabbed him from behind, tight on his throat. The touch was astonishingly cold. Having touched this bare skin for days now, it was very familiar to McLeod, especially as it pulled him back and dragged him into the little light from the 'patient room' that McLeod just had him in.

Dante wrenched the pistol free from him, twirled him around and slammed him against the boxes, nearly toppling them over. The pistol he pointed directly at McLeod's heart. There was still darkness in this room, so all he could really see of McLeod was the glint off his glasses. His hands were up too in surrender; Dante could see that much at least.

"Not very easy to gloat when the tides are turned on you, is it, _Doctor_?" Dante snarled at him. Dante's legs struggled, trembling from the weight of his body. Another advantage of still having a marginally low percent of Heaven's gift was the he still seemed to have accelerated muscle growth. That made it easier for his entropy in his lower body to leave him. His grip tightened on the pistol very hard. His wings were extended, bony structures that were too high and too noticeable and aching considerably from the position he had been in for too long in slumber. These, were unfortunately not as quick to return to normal as his legs.

"Don't kill me, please," McLeod pleaded. "Please. I wasn't going to hurt you. I just wanted-"

"You just wanted _something. _That's for damn sure," Dante pressed the gun harder into his chest. "Something you weren't even sure I could provide. The one above. He's looking for me. I need to know the way out of here."

"The only way out is to go up," said McLeod.

"If you wish to be my bullet shield, Doctor...I'll be more than happy to make you so," Dante told him.

"He'll kill me...He killed to get to you. He'll kill me," said McLeod hopelessly. "Please.."

Dante deliberated for a moment. "You're probably right. That's good intuition. You don't even know him and you guessed it. This man...He's not a man either. He's a Fallen angel. Do you know what's worse than a wrathful angel or a cruel demon? A Fallen angel. This one mass murdered my comrades in cold blood and he was the reason I was sentenced to this God forsaken realm as punishment for a crime that I DID NOT COMMIT."

His anger got the better of him. And he thought he was going to witness McLeod flinch. The entire time he had known him, that short time, the human seemed smug, almost too smug until he was cowering now. But that fearful expression that Dante could now barely see as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, seemed to clear altogether. He was not looking fearful...He was not looking like _anything_ was happening to him.

McLeod's face was blank. Vacant.

And Dante felt something. Not outside, not physical. Internal. He thought that all power was lost to him. But this was not an element he was controlling through the powers that be. No, he was controlling nothing like that. He had quite literally stretched out a mental hand and taken McLeod's fragile psyche into his grip. He had never felt anything like it before...He had never dreamed that something like that actually existed.

If he wanted, he could use that mental hand to crush McLeod's mind into nothing. What would happen if he did that? It made him curious. He heard a banging noise above him like a door being blown open. Yes, Virgil was searching for him. It would not be long before he came down. If what McLeod said was true, then there was only one way out and that was up.

Or he could find out for himself. The invisible mental hand he worked to attach to the physical realm, focus it actually into his free hand which he raised and curled his fingers just slightly.

"What's your name?" Dante breathed, simply testing the waters.

"My name is Fergus McLeod," said the doctor in a mechanical voice.

Dante nearly gasped. His mouth fell open. He mouthed to himself his own surprised but kept his eyes locked on the whites of McLeod's eyes as he drew closer, pressing the pistol even harder into his chest.

"Is that the alias you go by here?" Dante asked. "Are you a real doctor?"

"It's my name. I work here,"

"What did your dead wife call you?" Dante asked, pressing deep into his mind like he had found a handful of tissue inside to squish.

McLeod's face flashed as though he was struggling. "She called me Crowley."

"She's dead,"

"Yes,"

"And you're not. That's sad," said Dante, tightening his grip an inch.

"Yes," said McLeod in a strained tone.

"What do you want from me, Crowley?"

"I want compensation,"

"You want compensation in the form of...?" Dante trailed off, letting Crowley finish it for him.

Crowley raised his chin a little. "Immortality."

Dante raised his eyebrow. "You wish to become immortal? You wish to live forever, is that it?"

"Yes,"

"Why?"

"I wish to see my family,"

"You think becoming immortal will allow you to see your family? Not a plan you thought out very well, was it, _Crowley?" _Dante mocked openly. "If your wife and son led a life of kindness and fairness, then they're probably in Heaven. You think becoming immortal and cursing God will make you see them again?"

"It's justice,"

Dante smiled a little, but the expression was without humor. "On any other day or night, if I heard a human speak such vile thoughts out loud, I might decide to teach them how wrong they are. But God allowed this to happen to me...so I suppose I can see your desire for...revenge."

"Yes,"

Dante looked over his shoulder. He heard something sound disturbingly like it was a stair step. Like someone was coming down.

And then he heard his voice.

"Daaaaaaaaaaanteeeee," Virgil sang from somewhat far away. "Daaaanttteeee...Wheeeeeere aaaarrrreee yoooou?"

Dante turned desperately towards Crowley. He still had a grip on him, even though panic was threatening to overwhelm him. "This gun. You said a bullet from it would kill me. Why?"

"It's laced,"

"Laced? Laced with what?"

"Stigma," said Crowley. "Stigmatus Inferno."

"What is that?"

"It's a poison that targets the systems of those with too high or too low temperatures. It's a slow venom that kills,"

Dante had never heard of it before. "Where did you get this?"

"From a hunter's nest,"

"A hunter's nest? What kind of hunters have poison like this? And for what?"

"Demon hunters,"

"Demons. I'm not a demon," said Dante scathingly. "So this should not kill me."

"No. But if I were to shoot you in the head or the heart, it could be fatal. In your weakened state, the probability of your survival is low,"

"Shut up, Doctor," Dante hissed.

The last thing Dante saw was Crowley's blank face before a shadow passed over it and he knew the doorway was blocked. It held the only light, after all.

Dante was slow in turning as he faced Virgil. The Fallen looked exactly as he had when he was chained to the ground in front of a court of Archangels, laughing at Dante's pain as they wrongfully accused him of crimes that Virgil himself had committed. He still had that silver coat, that strange silver hair and his sword strapped to his back.

Virgil brought his hands together and began to clap very slowly, taking a step with each step, closer to Dante. "You know those rare moments that you walk into something beautiful? So very few people get the chance to see that except perhaps on television...I feel blessed. Which is funny...because _I_ said that."

Dante turned his head back to Crowley and dropped his hand. At the same time, the spell dropped and the human collapsed in front of him to his knees, his hands braced on the floor to support his upper body from hitting the ground as well. He sputtered and gasped as though he had just broken the surface of deep water.

"What do you want from me, Virgil? Did you come here to kill me?" Dante asked without looking at him.

"All that trouble to get you out of that shit hole and you think it was to kill you?" Virgil asked. "Please. If I wanted to kill you. I could have done it in that cave."

"Why didn't you, then?" Dante did turn this time. He felt fear in his heart, but at the same time, it mingled with a strange sense of peace. Maybe if he kept taunting the Fallen. The Fallen actually _would_ kill him. "It would certainly...be a better fate than the one I was given."

"Free of rules and limitations. You call that punishment? The 'Celestial Court' did you a favor. Did both of us a favor with this exile, Dante," said Virgil. "This is freedom. To do whatever you want, whenever you want."

"Without a connection or link to Heaven, that's useless. I'm useless. I'm as useless as this dog," said Dante, and his eyes burned onto Crowley. "Petty, useless...greedy...pathetic. Weak. Just like them."

"You think a Fall entails becoming human, Dante?" Virgil asked, coming close so that he was near enough to drape his arms around Dante's shoulders. His voice was low and hypnotic. "You're right. That's a definition of Falling..and maybe you are that right now. You're in a transition, you could say."

"Transition to what," Dante worded very slowly.

"To one or other other. You have the choice, you understand," said Virgil, continuing to whisper in his ear. Dante heard a soft click and a blade extended from Virgil's sleeve which he pressed very lightly to Dante's throat. He felt the cold steel like it it was made of ice. "To embrace what you truly are...or become one of them...a sheep."

So many times Dante had used the word sheep to attribute to mindlessly following orders without a say of your own. It was strange to hear it from Virgil's lips.

He pulled away from Virgil with a small chuckle and twisted around so they were opposing each other. His gun was held up, pointed directly at Virgil's head. He stepped behind Crowley's cowered form. "You heard the human here, right? This gun has poison in it. Stigma. You've probably heard of it, _Fallen_. You killed my comrades, Virgil. My men...and I'm guessing you had a _fine_ time killing the humans above us. If you are not here to kill me, what are you here for?"

"I want you to embrace who you really are," said Virgil, seeming rather unbothered by Dante's weapon. "I want you to break. Because to be defined as a Fallen. A true Fallen...You have to break. You embrace the darkness, the shadow and let it devour your essence. Let it become you...and you will never need an inkling of Heaven's false securities ever again."

"I will not be like you," said Dante fervently. "Do you understand me? NEVER!"

"Like me? Oh, I have a feeling...You'll do so much better than me...Just look at your wings," Virgil told him, nodding to the bony silhouettes.

Dante clamped his lips shut and gave them a glance, not willing to take his eyes off of Virgil completely. To his astonishment, the wings were not merely bone now, but a few scant wings had begun to appear in different places. They were not white as Dante would have expected but a deep obsidian. He knew why this was. They were not made from the purest light of Heaven, but the darkest shadows of Hell...The shadows that didn't solely exist in Hell alone, but within every being, within every dark place in the world.

"Darkness is a beautiful remedy, Dante. It exists everywhere, in every one," said Virgil. "No matter who you are, or where you come from...a heart can always be corrupted. And yours is turning the right way, I wager."

"It's an easy path. An easy fall," said Dante coldly. He was not pleased by what he saw. This display of black feathers was no doubt because of his control over Crowley's mind...and perhaps for the desire to kill him. Even a simple thought and desire seemed to matter.

"Wait a second," Crowley interrupted. He could speak now. And he looked up, from Dante to Virgil. "Dante? Virgil? What are you two? Characters from a story? Hahahaahaha."

Virgil narrowed his eyes on him. "Story?"

"_Dante's Inferno_," said Dante impatiently.

"Ah...The story of the lost soul who ventured into the deepest bowels of Hell to retrieve his lost love," said Virgil, his eyes on Dante's. "I know the story. That one requires a few...corrections, I'm sure."

"This is unreal...You're both angels," said Crowley, looking at both of them again as he stood upright. "That means you can do it. You can grant me a wish."

"We're not angels," Virgil rolled his eyes. "We're Fallen. There's a difference."

"What difference? Fallen _Angels_," said Crowley pointedly. "You're still angels."

"Fallen," Virgil corrected him again. "Don't add the second word, it only pisses us off."

He clicked something in his free hand and another blade the length of a sword without the hilt appeared so he was hiding two under his sleeves. "Time is short, Dante. You wish to retrieve some measure of power you had before your Fall, then you have the opportunity, right here and right now."

"What?"

"Kill him," said Virgil, indicating Crowley. "Petty. Useless. Greedy...Pathetic. _Weak_. Just like you said. He has no right to this world but to stain it with his presence. A vengeful spirit is disgusting and troublesome. A vengeful human with a grudge against God is powerless swine."

"Please don't," said Crowley before Dante could respond. "Please. All I wanted was-"

"Revenge. Revenge in a very wrathful form, human. You cannot avenge your misfortunes against God, here and now. You can die though. Die and hopefully the Heavens will have mercy on your soul and grant you salvation. If not...," Virgil started to smile. "Well...You know where you end up if Heaven rejects you."

"Please," Crowley started to crawl, move his pathetic form to Dante where he gripped Dante's hips, staring up at him with wide eyes. "Please don't."

Dante opened his mouth to speak, but Virgil interrupted him. "He's not anything useful, Dante. He knows what you are, and he wants to exploit that and dare to ask you for a favor. Human, we don't grant favors. We're Fallen. Read my lips on that. F-A-L-L-E-N. We do not give favors. We don't owe you anything. You owe it to yourself to bow and kiss our feet."

"Virgil," said Dante sharply.

"Shut up, Dante. Embrace it. It's what you are. You're Fallen. You're not God's rejected animal. You're his prime creation. Kill him. That's one less human walking around and daring to think himself superior,"

"I don't think I'm superior," said Crowley. "Please. I don't."

"Doctor McLeod," Dante said slowly. "I'm sorry for all this. I really am."

"Please don't," Crowley begged.

"Virgil-" Dante began.

"KILL HIM, DANTE," Virgil shouted, losing the last inkling of patience he had left. "KILL HIM...OR I WILL."

And he grabbed a handful of Crowley's hair, pulling the pathetic man backwards and extending his blade to his neck. "You see? It's so simple. Just to take a life. Killing is a strong sort of magic in it's own, Dante. It has it's own dark appeal. For a human, killing rips the soul apart, blackens it. For an angel...it's no different. We don't have souls. But we have something...to equate. You could say."

"Virgil...don't," Dante warned.

Virgil pressed the blade deeper into Crowley's neck until a bead of blood began to drip down. "Death is a beautiful and merciful end. I'm feeling generous today."

He raised the bladed hand then, high as though he was preparing to decapitate Crowley once and for all.

Dante acted quickly. He threw his entire body towards Virgil. And though he knew that he had been cut off from Heaven and all of it's holy powers, he knew there was still some pieces left. Some little reminders. His bony 'wings' were one reminder. And the fact that he still had angelic fiber inlaid in his muscles that made him much stronger than a human.

He tackled Virgil, threw him to the ground where the other Fallen rolled over. Dante wrenched him onto his back and grappled with him, taking a hold of his wrists and holding him down, keeping him pinned in the hard floor.

"Ooh," Virgil simpered. "Kinky. Going to close your eyes and imagine I'm that cute little number you had stuck to you like glue from the cave?"

"DON'T YOU TALK ABOUT HIM!" Dante roared. "DON'T YOU EVER SPEAK OF HIM AGAIN, YOU FILTH!"

"Guys?" A quiet voice that was surprising to hear even through the sound of Dante's snarls ripping from his chest. Dante turned as though everything had slowed or stopped, just like what happened in the cave when he lost control of his temper. But there was no spell this time..

Crowley's hand feebly attempted to cover what they could plainly see. A long bloody slash across his throat. He dropped his hand and the blood flowed like a river to floor. He keeled over on his side, his glasses askew and shattered in one lens. The blood bubbled from his throat and began to spill from his lips as well.

Dante pulled off of Virgil and rushed over, on his knees where he pulled the body onto his lap, covering Crowley's throat with his hand too in another attempt to stem the flow of blood.

"No no no no no," Dante muttered, holding him close. "It's all right...It's going to be just fine...Come on Doctor...Just wake up...Wake up..."

"So much care for a life that's so useless," said Virgil slowly, massaging his throat and coughing a few times to release the clump of muscles. "So...sad...so pathetic."

"Shut up, Virgil," Dante snapped. "You did this. You killed him."

"Did I?" Virgil replied lightly. "No, I don't think I can rightfully claim credit for that one. I think that was you."

The assault on Virgil. He had mindlessly tackled him in a blind fit of rage. It had pushed the already-moving blade down to strike Crowley's throat.

"No, "Dante whispered.

"Awww...Look how sad you are...It breaks my heart," said Virgil, shaking his head. He clicked something on his palm and both extended blades from his sleeves were pulled back to wherever they came from. "You should be proud of yourself, Dante. You've made your first kill...Just look at your wings now."

Dante didn't want to look. He didn't want to do anything this monster told him to do, but he wanted to look away from Crowley. He didn't want to see the blood splattered corpse anymore. He looked behind him and caught sight of his wings. More feathers had appeared on the bones, prominent nearest to his spine. Long, black feathers that looked like they had been dipped in the deepest shade of crimson.

"It's a beautiful thing," said Virgil quietly.

"Get away from me," Dante growled. "Leave me alone. I never want to see you again. Leave! Before I kill you."

"Leave? Leave and let you be subject to the humans? You know they have their own laws about what to do with people who _kill_ their kind," Virgil scoffed. "It's kind of a joke, but relevant nonetheless. You want to be imprisoned, Dante? You know that wouldn't hold you...and I would just end up breaking you out anyway."

"I don't care!" Dante snapped again. "I don't care what you say! Get out of my sight! Or I'll kill you!"

"Like you killed him?" said Virgil with a small smile. Before Dante could growl at him again, Virgil held up a hand. "Do you wish he was alive, Dante? Do you wish that? Do you mourn the loss of this human? You know there are billions upon billions of them right now and more and more of them are being created? Literally, the growth rate ratio to the death ratio is so unbalanced."

"I don't care," said Dante.

"You're angry with me," This seemed to amuse Virgil. He knelt in front of Dante. "The authorities are going to be here any minute. What do you think they're going to find? This entire hospital's a bloodbath, right now, Dante. You can come with me and I can clean it all up and make it look the facility was simply abandoned, or you can stay here and rot with the dead. Your choice."

"I'm not coming with you," said Dante stubbornly.

"You need something, Dante. You need a guide. You're lost in this new world. Your powers...They are returning but you need someone to show you. _I can guide you_. I'll even make it up to you. Here," He placed a hand over Crowley's bleeding wound and closed his eyes in concentration. There was a brief white glow before the wound slowly began to close and fade into smooth skin.

"Wh...What? How? You're...You're healing him?"

"I'm resurrecting him," Virgil corrected him.

"How? That's an Archangel's power to resurrect the dead," said Dante in disbelief.

"No, it's not," said Virgil firmly. "You say that because they don't share that knowledge to you and never allow you to read the spell scrolls and tomes that contain the power to do that. But it's quite simple...and you, my dear Dante...have no limitation, no rule to prohibit you from learning. There is light and dark magic out there, and using one or the other, doesn't define what you are."

"But I..."

"You're a Fallen now. So am I. They would say different...what you do is what defines you. You killed this man, Dante. Accidental or not, you did. I have brought him back, but your murder has left what we call an imprint," Virgil explained. "It's a taint that remains upon a human soul. If you resurrect a human with a tainted soul, that soul becomes flesh and born again...but it will not be born human."

"You're saying he's not human...Then what is he now?" Dante's eyes flickered downward and saw that Crowley's eyes were still closed. He could have been sleeping...if not for all the blood that still remained from his wound.

"He's a demon, Dante. Not just any demon. A special demon. He's _your_ demon," said Virgil, and there was that nasty smile that Dante was starting to really loathe seeing.

Virgil stood up then, extending his hand towards Dante. " Saddle up your newborn demon on your back, my friend. We're going to have a grand ol' time, you and I."

Dante stared at him. The prospect that he had killed someone daunted him. And that it was Crowley. Crowley..Doctor McLeod...or whatever... didn't have good intentions from the moment he started speaking...but as an angel...well, a _former_ angel...He still felt the pang of this loss fresh. There was so much blood on his hands that had not yet dried. On the floor...on the body.

But he had no choice now...he had encountered demons in storybooks...and never in his wildest dreams...or in this case, nightmares, did he know he would ever create one.

Virgil. He was disgusted by the Fallen. Disgusted by what he had done...and repulsed by what he had been forced to do.

And he took his hand, clasped it tight. He manhandled the sleeping body of Crowley to drape around his front as though they were embracing. Using the support from Virgil's hand, Dante stood.

_I remember the day the Light vanished._


	11. The Condemned

**Hell, 1st Circle - P.R.I.D.E**

**Present Day**

* * *

><p>Crowley found himself in a dark and desolate room. He knew that he was still in the castle because there was the confined space that didn't feel the fire of hell behind it. His hands were tied behind him and he was sitting on a very uncomfortable steel chair directly in the middle of the small room. There was a puddle of blood that kept growing underneath his bound wrists from his previous struggles. There was more blood but that remained on Crowley himself, dripping from his cut lips, his broken nose and several open cuts on his forehead and cheeks. He had been beaten and bruised in a span of a few hours.<p>

And the catalyst for his poor state was sitting across from him in a similar chair, completely clean of any after effects because of the black handkerchief he kept using to clean himself free of Crowley's blood when it splattered in his direction. This room had a single light above them, focused on the two of them, giving off more emphasis to Crowley's current state and Dean's. He sighed very loudly when Crowley came to, as if it was all exasperating. So many times he had passed out, and for once, he wished Dean would let him sleep.

But this time waking up was a little different. There was something pressed deep into his temples like steel padding that felt cold. There was a slightly numb feeling in several places at the back of his head. Like someone had spent a lot of time pressing ice to his skin. There was a strange contraption sitting next to Dean that looked like an old radio.

Dean adjusted his leather jacket over himself more easily, and leaned forward when he saw that Crowley had awakened.

"Know what this is, Crowley?" Dean asked after a long moment, pressing a hand to the black contraption.

"No," said Crowley honestly. He sniffed loudly and found that caused more pain. It wasn't even easy to breathe properly in this place.

"This is a machine I've developed. It's called Extract," said Dean. "Lame name, I know, but hear me out. I've managed to charge it with some of my power. With the right buttons, it should be able to sift through the blocks in your mind for the information I'm looking for."

"You could just ask me nicely," Crowley grinned, knowing he was showing off two perfect rows of bloodstained teeth.

"I could, but you're a stubborn demon," said Dean conversationally. "And we both know what I want, you wouldn't willingly give. The irony of it is, I'm trying to help you, Crowley. Why won't you let me help you?"

"I'm getting mixed signals,"

Dean smiled back at him. "Keep mouthing off, Crowley. You'll be dead before the deadline I laid out for Dante. After all. He only has forty-eight hours to show his face before I start laying out the law."

Crowley chuckled. That just hurt his lungs a lot. Dean had punched him several times there. He wheezed in the act. "You honestly...Heh...Think that matters to him? You think he cares about the humans in your cities? You think he'll show his face because he wants to rescue them?"

"I'm not razing the human cities because I think Dante wants to play hero, Crowley," Dean explained. "He's no hero. He's an asshole. So am I. There's no heroes here. Everyone's morally jaded. Even the pure ones. I decided to put the city threat on the line because I may as well have a little fun if he decides to be cowardly. Besides, he can't hide long if there's _nowhere_ to hide, you know what I mean?"

"It takes an asshole to know an asshole, I'm guessing," said Crowley. "So what's the aim in drawing him out and killing him, Your Majesty? What makes you think he won't lose?"

"...You've spent quite a number of hours here, my old friend," said Dean, seeming to lose interest in Crowley's question. "There are memories that I was able to extract quite easily. People tend to dwell on certain thoughts, certain..memories that come to mind more often when the mind is stressed. And your mind is by no means, at peace right now."

"...What are you saying?" Crowley asked warily.

Dean steepled his fingers together. "What do you think, Crowley? I know he's not well. He's certainly dying right now. It was my mark, wasn't it? My attack in Chicago rendered him weak. My demon, Chimera confirmed his condition. Dante is no where near his peak anymore. He'll very easily die."

"If you know that's the case, what makes you think he'll get up to find you? Taunt him all you want, Dean. He's not coming here," said Crowley.

"Your maker is elusive, Crowley. I will give him that," said Dean. "You're right. I don't expect him to come to me because of my threats against humanity. That would be absurd. What could inspire a Fallen to abstain from everything he has known as a Fallen to come here and accept my challenge? It smells like a trap. I'm sure he thinks so too."

"He's not wrong," said Crowley. Crowley rolled his head to the right side and felt his neck crick in pain. But still, he kept his eyes locked on Dean's. "Listen, Your Majesty...What information are you hoping to unlock from my mind? You have the ability to extract memories. Anything you want to know...I'm sure you know already. There is nothing to hide here. You can release me. Dante will not be coming for me either, I can assure you."

"You very much underestimate your value, Crowley," said Dean. "You know I've made a demon before."

Crowley looked up so the light was reflected on his burn scars. "Yes, I remember."

Dean smiled unpleasantly. "And while I didn't spend enough time with mine...I know the attachment between a maker and it's demon runs high. Especially for a pure bred demon and the Fallen maker. You and I are alike in that aspect...We're both demons bred from a Fallen. So, you see...I know Dante values you. He values you very much. The only reason he hasn't stormed in here, demanding you, is because his injury prevents him so...but from what I've read of your memories...it's because...ah...Balthazar...is with him."

Crowley pursed his lips. "You're wrong. He's said over and over that I mean nothing to him. Nothing at all. And there's nothing I know that he doesn't know. You can see it all."

"Flattering. That you think that," said Dean, raising an eyebrow. "But not quite true. There is a psychic block in your mind, Crowley. It's singled out and large. A demon shares all the memories of its maker, you know. I used a block for Carmen to prevent her from being overwhelmed by my own memories. Dante has placed one inside of you as well. Like it or not, Crowley. There is something he does not wish for you to acknowledge. That, is what I'm interested in."

"Maybe it's how much he hates you. Maybe he thinks I'll get tired of all the folk songs he's invented about his repulsion for you. It seems plausible to me," said Crowley in a bored voice.

_"Or_ he's hiding something very important," said Dean.

"Why are you asking me? Aren't you _Memory?_ Don't you have all the memories Dominion had? Trust me, there's not much more that Dante knows that you don't. Except that you suck and you haven't accepted it yet," Crowley answered shrewdly.

"I have Dominion's Memory," said Dean, ignoring the insult. "But there are certain things that Dominion possibly did not deign to pass onto me. I need to know that...for example... Dominion would never give me the knowledge of how to extract the other fragments."

There was a pause as Crowley let that settle into his mind fully. Crowley's eye twitched. "That's it, then. So you _do_ wish to become Dominion. My, Dean. From defying everything your Father stood for, you sure are becoming just as power-hungry as he was."

"Fragments aren't meant to exist, Crowley. There's only meant to be one. And who else could it be but me?" Dean pointed to himself. "I mean come on, it's _all_ about me, after all. I was Michael's son, became Lucifer's, became King...rose from the deepest depths of Hell and raised an army unmatched by anyone, including Heaven. Why not me? If anyone is worthy of becoming Dominion, it's me."

"I think I liked you better when you had a shred of humanity left," Crowley noted. "At least you were somewhat tolerable."

Dean scoffed. "It's a good thing your input really doesn't matter."

"I'm a subject of your kingdom, Your Majesty," said Crowley. "You may be using me for torture, but I was loyal to the crown. I'm not asking for your sympathy, but perhaps you should take stock in my input. I was a physician before I was turned into demon. I may not know much about the corruption of darkness but you...I can see the effects on your face. If you continue on your path, it's going to kill you. _Again."_

_"_NOT IF YOU TELL ME WHAT YOU KNOW!" Dean bellowed, lunging forward and grabbing Crowley's head, pressing his thumbs hard into Crowley's temples. His voice became deceptively gentle. "It's _here_. He knows...I know he knows...He would not have tried to make my life misery in Treachery...sworn vengeance if he didn't know. He knows how to extract the fragments. There has to be something. A ritual...a curse...A spell...it exists. I know he knows it."

Crowley leaned back a few inches at Dean's sudden movement. The touch was steaming hot. It almost seemed to burn him, even when they _should_ have been matching in temperature."Tell me something..Your dear Castiel is a fragment..as well, you know. What does _he_ think about you becoming Dominion? What, then? Let's say the knowledge exists. That there's a spell, or curse...or whatever, out there that allows you to extract the fragments. Say it exists. Say the price is killing them. Killing the other two. Are you willing to go that far? Have you fallen that much, Your Majesty?"

Dean scoffed at him. Not a single emotion outside of mockery seemed to touch Dean as he leaned back himself and sat back down fully in his seat. "Sacrifices are made to achieve the greater goal. It's happened time and time again."

"I know you don't care about Dante. But Castiel? I'm not blind, Your Majesty. I was there when he came into my office and requested permission to enter the second circle. He didn't even hesitate. Whatever the cost was to save you...He was willing to take it. You speak of the bond between Dante and I. There's nothing like the bond between two people who love each other."

Dean locked eyes with Crowley. "Who says I love Castiel?"

Crowley opened his mouth and closed it. "It's...It's obvious."

"For him," Dean amended. "What use would I get loving an angel, or a Fallen for that matter? I've certainly not had any good experience with any of them. Besides, love is weakness."

Crowley raised an eyebrow at him, wondering if he was serious or if this was an act. And yet there was no apology in Dean's eyes. "Even if you didn't...You'd kill someone loves you the way he loves you. You'd do that."

"Castiel is my Guardian, Crowley. Just like you were. The most inconvenience I would face is finding another one," said Dean in a bored voice. "And at this point, it wouldn't be so difficult to find people loyal to the crown."

"You're lying," Crowley tilted his head. "You're lying to yourself. You're pretending not to care or you're suppressing it. You allowed him to live this far. If you really didn't care at all-"

"I would have killed him much sooner?" Dean finished for him. "You're probably right. I would have. But you see, I don't _know_ if killing Dante or him directly will release the fragments. It could just kill them. Who knows. May as well extract and kill. Keep it simple."

Crowley continued to stare at him in disbelief. "You're heartless, Dean. I never realized that could happen, even to you. You were always a crude bastard. Quite literally. You killed. Your heart was far from pure, despite who your Father, Michael, was. But even I can vouch that you have changed. Those veins on your face are a result of the darkness manifesting from your heart. It will consume you. And whether you become Dominion or not, keep treading that path, and you won't last long. Trust me. Darkness is easy, it's easy to delve in...but it will take you over. And it's showing more and more on you."

"Is this the part where you appeal to what little humanity that _you_ believe I still have left? I was always a selfish prick, Crowley. I'm just more open to the possibility of what I'm capable now," said Dean.

"Even Castiel," Crowley shook his head, the little he could.

"Talk of love is highly amusing from _Dante's_ demon," Dean noted. "Loveless Fallen don't hold any sway with me."

"He wasn't always like the Dante you know now. He was different," Crowley justified, raising his chin. "He could love. He did love."

"Did. Could. Doesn't now. He's just as bad as me," said Dean, shrugging. "There are no heroes, like I said. Everyone's got a dark, twisted path. Makes it hard, doesn't it? To actually choose a side in all this. But the truth of it all is this, Crowley. There are no sides. There's your own side and whoever's willing to stand by you. The big problem with Castiel...You know...is that he's doubting me. I've known him well enough these past years. I know his mind and I know his doubts. He's afraid of what I'm capable of that. That kind of doubt...? Is _not_ something I require to win this war."

"Your actions are cruel and distasteful. You're out of your mind," Crowley answered.

The words reminded him of Castiel's words before. _Cruelty without rational thought is not far from insanity._

It made Dean scowl. Stupid worthless demon had no idea what he was speaking on.

"If my actions seem so insane, to you, perhaps you can do your best to be rid of my presence, by cooperating. This Extract machine is unique, Crowley. It extracts your memories, yes. But consider how painful that is, especially, if you have a psychic block against me. I'm going to remove that block now. And trust me when I say...It will not be painless," said Dean, getting up and moving his seat closer to Crowley, close enough that it slid just slightly on the puddle of blood on the ground.

"I'm not counting on walking away form this unscathed, Your Majesty," Crowley retorted.

"Good for me, then," said Dean, reaching over. His touch was soft as he laid his fingertips down and pressed them against Crowley's temples. It was still heated. But it was only when Dean closed his eyes in concentration, that Crowley really felt something intrusive invade.

Every memory that Dean was sifting through, Crowley saw as well. Things that he didn't even know he had anymore. He saw his wife and son, young as he was before the turn in broken images, scattered all about. He saw the chronologically next stream of memories that came in rapid succession. He saw himself as the doctor, seeing Dante enter his hospital as a patient, the wings he saw that no one else seemed to be able to see. He saw Dante's face as it leered at him, a gun pressed to his heart just before his own demise from the human life he had known and his entrance to the demon one.

The next images were many. His time as a demon far extended his lifespan as a human, the longer he spent in Hell, and he did spend much time there, after all.

He saw Dante's face many times over. After all, it wasn't just his own fall into darkness he was seeing, but Dante's as well. Yet this was his mentor, his instructor. Love was the first emotion a demon felt when awakening and over the years, he saw his own demonstrated loyalty to his maker.

He remembered that **fateful** night, when Dominion finally fragmented into him. He was not present to see it happen, only to see it's aftereffects. The broken form of Dante as he dragged himself before the throne.

It was Dean he was facing then. These memories he knew he shared with Dean himself, but his vision of what happened was further away, hidden behind a pillar where Dante had forced him to stay. In case it ended badly, he had said...One of them should be safe. It was not unlike Dante to show care in critical moments, but it was rare nonetheless. And Crowley knew to take the moment seriously. If something happened, he would know what to do, even without Dante there to guide him.

He watched Dante beg. Couldn't quite hear the words, as they came through in distorted sounds as though run through a tape recorder backwards on rapid rewind. The Fallen was begging for mercy, for something from Dean who looked upon him stoically. And then he saw the fateful moment when Dean rose off the throne, drew out his sword and stood before the kneeling form of Dante. For a depiction, it simply looked like Dean was knighting him, but the opposite was true in Hell. There was no knighting. He was banishing him to the ninth circle.

Dante seemed to obliterate, exploding into pieces of black like crows had manifested from him until he became nothing more.

And then there was nothing. Dean stopped. There was that block he was speaking of. The knowledge that Crowley should have shared openly with Dante but could not. They hit a dark place where random dark shapes seemed to surface in Crowley's vision. Dean's grip on his head became painful, to the point where he felt like his fingernails were cutting into his skin. He felt himself outside physical enough that he buckled in his seat. But Dean's grip was hard and tight.

"Look at me...This isn't going to be pretty. Brace yourself," Dean hissed, right in his face.

"Dean...Dean...," Crowley murmured between his labored breaths. "Please. Please. Don't-"

But Dean didn't require any further prompting. His fingers dug in further,and this time he seemed to cut through flesh, blood sliding down the sides of Crowley's face in a gush.

And he saw Dean no more. He was taken elsewhere. The room was completely white with no end in sight. Crowley looked around himself. There was nothing there. Behind him, In front...To the sides...

Then something twinkled and glowed in front of him, manifesting into the shape of a young boy with torn blue jean shorts and a red and yellow striped shirt. He looked very preoccupied with poking a snail in a tiny patch of grass that had come with the image of the boy.

The boy looked up at him with sharp green eyes and a freckled face. He couldn't be older than five.

"Dean?" Crowley asked, kneeling next to him. He realized he was a stark contrast. His injuries from Dean's torture had not manifested here. He was in perfect health, but still. A black trenchcoated individual with a child. Crowley looked like the looming dark presence in a place of serenity.

"Hi," said Dean shyly, standing upright and bouncing his weight from one foot to the other.

"Hi. What are you doing here?" Crowley asked, looking around. "By yourself?"

"It's lonely here," said Dean.

"It is," Crowley agreed.

Dean closed his eyes very slowly as if he was tired. When next he opened them, everything seemed to paint around them as though it was being thought up on a blank canvas. Dean's tiny patch of grass morphed into a small sandbox. This was the only evidence that this was a child's part. The park itself was dark, cold wind blowing through a thunder storm. Broken swings. A halved seesaw, the benches toppled over, and the silhouette of a mountain in the distance where the storm was more prominent, where lightning crackled.

"Lately the storm clouds are coming closer," said the young Dean.

Crowley looked down at him. "You're brave for staying this long in the sun, Dean."

"It's going away," said Dean and he looked directly above them where a swirl of clouds remained slightly parted only for them, the only source of true light shining down from the sea of darkness.

"Not as long you don't give up," said Crowley gently, pressing a hand to Dean's shoulder. "Don't give up, Dean. Don't leave this place."

"It's hard," Dean complained in his tiny tones. His eyes began to fill. "It's hard. It's hard."

"I know, Dean," Crowley ran his hand over Dean's short strands of hair. "But you're strong. Didn't your Daddy ever tell you you need to be strong?"

"I don't know how," The boy began to cry.

Crowley wrapped his arms around Dean and hugged him tight. "It's all right, Dean. It's going to be all right...I don't...I don't think I have a lot of time here. But I want you to remember what I said. Stay here. Stay strong...All right?"

As Crowley pulled away to look at him fully, the face of the boy began to fade, and the scene exploded around him in a swirl of dark color. He was expelled, and not very gently out of this illusion until he felt the draft of the room again, where pain exploded all of his senses where he had been hurt in reality.

Crowley panted in front of Dean, struggling unconsciously against the binds that kept him to the chair while he breathed hard and stared at his own lap, dripping with blood that was coming from his lips from how hard his teeth had come down on his own tongue.

Dean, was a stark contrast to him, leaned back to the place where he had been before, a foot away. He was sitting cross-legged, completely relaxed. As Crowley looked at him, he couldn't help but detect that Dean's face looked even darker than before. Those stark black veins had deepened into his flesh, becoming more dark, branching out even smaller veins down his cheeks. It seemed like only the top part of his face was safe yet.

He casually pulled sunglasses out of his inner jacket pocket and proceeded to wipe the lenses off. Crowley stared at him square in the face. Dean's green eyes melted into pure black, reflecting pools of almost complete darkness which he blinked away the next second.

"Not a good cosmetic development, I can tell you," Dean muttered to him as he placed the sunglasses over his eyes and smiled at Crowley.

"You...You...," Crowley tried to say, but he couldn't work the words to come out. His heart was pounding in his chest, his lungs working overdrive to return normalcy to his body.

"Easy, Crowley," said Dean. He seemed completely oblivious to the vision they both shared. And Crowley knew why. He knew what was inside Dean. "You're going to die soon. It'll all be over. But at least you proved somewhat useful before your demise...You have told me the spell that I'm looking for. That's all I needed to know."

Crowley blinked slow. "I'm...glad."

"Good," said Dean. He stood up then and turned from him. "Castiel! Guard Crowley. I have things to do."

He pulled from the room completely, but Crowley could still catch their voices and he heard Castiel and Dean speaking through the wall.

"Watch him. When he finally dies. Destroy his body. His death should send a message to the Shadowalker. Which is just what we need,"

"He's dying?" Castiel asked. He didn't sound very upset about it. Which Crowley wasn't surprised for. They were never the best of friends.

"Good timing too, on that. Watch him. Make sure he does. If you want, feel free to take him out of his misery. He's hardly coherent in there," Dean was saying.

There was no verbal response. Dean must have left Castiel standing there after giving the order. He could imagine that face though. Crowley almost see that scowl building and the slight shock that he was given an order to dispose of a demon. Sounded like waste duty.

Castiel entered, and his expression was clear of that possible scowl. He closed the door behind him with a loud bang. Something sparkled slightly when Castiel passed him on his way further inside and Crowley squinted at the crucifix hanging from his neck.

Dean had been wrong. Crowley found he could still speak, and form coherent thoughts, albeit in a much slower manner. Having your mind probed by a nasty demon wasn't an experience that Crowley wanted to repeat. But he held fast onto his sanity. Dean had extracted what _he_ wanted from the block in Crowley's mind and Crowley almost felt nothing to it. It must have been back up, because he didn't feel or acknowledge any new memories.

"Why do you wear that?" Crowley asked, continuing to eyeball the cross around Castiel's neck. His voice sounded like he had been chewing on cotton all day.

"What?" Castiel asked, glancing down. "It's a symbol."

"Of a Messiah you no longer believe in," said Crowley, rolling his head back so he could stare at Castiel more prominently.

"This symbol doesn't just symbolize Christ. It symbolizes sacrifice," said Castiel. "It was his sacrifice that humanity was forgiven of their past transgression."

"You must admire a martyr like that," said Crowley.

"I don't know what you mean by that," said Castiel, leaning against the closed door and crossing his arms, watching him. He took in stock Crowley's mangled appearance. It wasn't the state of blood all over him, that was surely his own...it was his face itself. It had paled considerably, green veins looking like they were puckering from his temples. He didn't know what the contraption was that Dean had used him and he didn't know what it was for. He had half a mind to remove the wires that were still connecting Crowley to it.

Surely Dean had gotten what he wanted out of him.

Crowley heard marching nearby. Steps walking in complete synchronization. It was a strange sound to hear in Hell, where the realm literally should have resembled disarray. And he was hearing marching.

"What's going on...What's he doing?" Crowley asked in a half-interested voice.

Castiel seemed reluctant to respond. His jaw locked. "He's gathering the army."

"For what, an attack?" Crowley chuckled. "Here I thought we had some leeway for at least two more days."

"When has he followed rules," Castiel murmured, more to himself.

But Crowley caught it. "Never. You're right. Not even his own. I do wonder what inspires you to follow such a creature."

Castiel looked directly at him, locking eyes. "It's my choice."

"You tell yourself that, Castiel. I'm sure it succeeds in making you feel better," said Crowley.

"And what is that supposed to mean?" Castiel countered.

"It means...You're not here at your own free will. There is no free will. You're here...because you have to be. You honestly think he'd let you leave? Now?" Crowley asked.

"I appreciate your belief in Dean's attachment-"

"It's not an attachment, Castiel. It's an obsession. And not really with just you. Why do you think he spent a few hours torturing me? For fun? Why do you think he made this ultimatum? Do you honestly believe he wants to kill Dante because he wants revenge? Take into stock that Dante didn't actually _hurt_ your boyfriend in any way,"

"He turned him mortal, what are you talking about?" Castiel snapped.

"Yes, and I'm _fairly_ confident that you enjoyed that time, didn't you? As short as it was," said Crowley, tilting his head. His neck ached from the movement but he attempted it anyway. "No harm, no foul. You could say he did him a favor...You know who the real enemy here is, don't you? It's not us."

"Who do you think is the real enemy then, Crowley?" Castiel asked, gripping himself tighter. He looked like he was only pretending to be interested but he seemed a little more tense.

"Dante didn't kill Carmen, Castiel. Heaven did. I made a deal with them...or...a pretend deal. I knew what they were after, but we had to be sure. Metatron killed Carmen. If there has to be a war, it has to be with the side that we were born to destroy. Heaven. You know it, I know it."

"Typical, Crowley. A demon blaming someone else for their own problems to save themselves. That's just like you," said Castiel angrily. "Heaven is a realm that cannot be tread by a tainted spirit. Demon or Fallen. There is no use in waging war against them."

"Why not? Your King's made a mess. It's only a matter of _time_ before Heaven sends an angel to purge the land of the taint. And when that day comes, Castiel, you're going to be hearing me say I told you so."

"Am I," said Castiel flatly.

"You are," said Crowley. "You know you can stop this, Castiel. He wanted something from me. Do you know what that knowledge he wanted so desperately from my mind?"

"What's that?" Castiel asked.

"The knowledge to extract a fragment of Dominion from the vessels. And what are you, Castiel? You're a fragment. He wants to kill you, Castiel. He wants to take the fragments that Dante and you hold and become Dominion. That's the goal. That's always been the goal."

Castiel was as still as a statue. When he finally moved, it was a simple blink, his mouth barely moving as he spoke. "You're lying."

"And you know what really baffles me, Castiel? _You can stop him._ You think one fragment is stronger than the other? You think Dante and Dean are stronger than you or each other? No. You're all at equal power. The _only_ reason that demon stands King and proud enough to call out Dante is because he's borrowing power from the activation sites he created on Earth. You can disperse of them and level him down to what he's supposed to be,"

"It's not true," said Castiel. "He wouldn't do that."

"Or he would, because it makes sense, doesn't it? You don't believe me, Castiel. Put him to the test. I saw a single tiny thread left of his humanity when he took my memory out of me...and I saw the human inside, barely alive, barely able to stand...I saw it...so if you want to get through to him, it's on your choice...but I have something else for you. There's life left in me to give you something to see for yourself. He put me on this machine he made...purposely created to extract memories from an individual. Let me show you...that what you believe in is a lie."

Castiel was going to open his mouth in a question but Crowley silenced him the next second. His eyebrows furrowed in concentration. He blinked tightly as if holding in some type of internal pain.

"What are you-"

Castiel broke off when the room filled with an emerald glow and a glowing form of Dean took the place of the empty seat in front of Crowley. A recent memory...perhaps moments ago.

_"I know you don't care about Dante. But Castiel? I'm not blind, Your Majesty. I was there when he came into my office and requested permission to enter the second circle. He didn't even hesitate. Whatever the cost was to save you...He was willing to take it. You speak of the bond between Dante and I. There's nothing like the bond between two people who love each other."_

_"Who **says** I love Castiel?"_

_"It's...It's obvious."_

_"For him. What use would I get loving an angel, or a Fallen for that matter? I've certainly not had any good experience with any of them. Besides, love is weakness."_

_"...Even if you didn't...You'd kill someone loves you the way he loves you. You'd do that_."

_"Castiel is my Guardian, Crowley. Just like you were. The most inconvenience I would face is finding another one...And at this point, it wouldn't be so difficult to find people loyal to the crown._"

"_You're **lying.** You're lying to yourself. You're pretending not to care or you're suppressing it. You allowed him to live this far. If you really didn't care at all-_"

"_I would have killed him much sooner? You're probably right. I would have. But you see, I don't know if killing Dante or him directly will release the fragments. It could just kill them. Who knows. May as well extract and kill... Keep it simple._"

The memory stopped and the room was left silent once more save for the rapid panting that came from Crowley. Castiel was left staring at the scene, staring at the seat where he saw the memory of Dean speaking. His face had paled, more so than usual, and his grip on himself had put tears in the fabric of his jacket. He seemed to be working on keeping his composure, if he had any of that left.

"It's not true...," He whispered at last.

Crowley chuckled, and the sound came out pained. "Come on, Castiel. Even_ you_ don't have to be so blind. I can't fabricate a memory..._He_ can. I can't."

Castiel remained still for a long moment, then he finally uncrossed his arms and let out a long breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. "...This changes things."

"I'm sorry," said Crowley. "And I mean that...I do."

Castiel wasn't focused on Crowley's false sympathies. He wished he hadn't seen what he had seen...He actually would have preferred to live in blissful ignorance. Then again, that would probably have gotten him killed.

Still, he didn't _want_ to accept that Dean's game plan...that it had been all along had been his demise.

He loved Dean, he had for quite some time. And while his own life was made for sacrifice as Dean so nicely put it, he didn't want to die so Dean could fully embrace something he was not.

Dean was not Dominion. And he shouldn't be.

Castiel covered his mouth with his hand, flat and thoughtful. The frown on his brow was very apparent. "This...changes things."

"I know you're upset, Castiel," said Crowley, and he glanced at the expression on Castiel's face. " _More_ than upset...but we have to focus. We have to find a way out of here. We're dead if we stay."

"It doesn't matter," said Castiel, waving a dismissive hand in his direction. "None of it matters anymore."

Crowley growled. "Look, _hero_. I know this is the point where you give up...but we don't have time for that now. Now that you know the true agenda, it's time to act. You have to strike before he does."

"And do what? Take his fragments? May as well do what he wants to do, then," Castiel snapped impatiently.

"No...Run. We need to find Dante. Dante will know what to do," said Crowley. "No offense, but he's got the most experience out of all of you. He'll know what to do."

Castiel shook his head and again, pinched his nose, walking to the wall where he stared at the blank stretch of wall in front of him. "I don't know what to do anymore. I'm tired. I'm so tired of this. In my head, it's easy to justify Dean and what he's done. It's easy to take his words at face value...but in my heart, I know I've been lying to myself. I've let countless people die and to think if I stay, there would be more. I wouldn't have even lifted a finger to stop him."

"Castiel..," Crowley murmured, his face softening.

Castiel covered his face with his hands and for a moment, Crowley thought he had finally broke down and begun to cry, but when Castiel looked up a minute later, his face was relatively dry of any tears. It was just stress.

He wordlessly ran a hand over the bindings on Crowley and immediately they thinned and became loose until he could slip his hand from them and bring them forward. The wounds remained which Castiel eyed rather stoically. He hovered a hand over the minor cuts as well, and while Crowley did begin to feel them close, he raised a hand to catch Castiel's wrist.

"Save your strength. You're going to need it. I can heal myself," said Crowley, releasing him.

"What are we going to do? We can't leave without him knowing. He knows this circle of Hell as well as Dante knew Treachery," said Castiel.

"We're not going to run like little rats. We're going out the front door...if where I'm thinking of can be considered the front door. We need to go through a dimensional door," said Crowley.

"There are thousands of portals in the sky, exiting this realm since Dean released the demons here," said Castiel. "Why not use one of those?"

"Because I have a better idea," said Crowley, standing up and pulling the steel clamps that were around his head that had given Dean easier access. "It's dangerous here, Castiel. I don't know what information in it's exact form Dean has from me now. But it's very obvious he has it. No one's in more danger than you. I'm sure he's all too eager to use whatever he has now and see if it works...You just so happen to a perfect catalyst."

Castiel made a face, trying very hard not to betray the overwhelming emotion he so very clearly had inside of him. "...I hope you have a decent escape plan, then."

"Let's start slow. We're going to my room," said Crowley, reaching up to a take a handful of his jacket and wiping the excess blood off his wrist, his face and his neck. He looked marginally better, but still like he had been mentally beaten to a pulp. He headed for the door and very slowly began to peek outside. There were still sounds of demons marching from the throne room. So that meant that almost all the demons in the first circle were gathering.

"Is he really about to attack the mortal plane?" Crowley asked.

"I don't know," said Castiel behind him. "He doesn't tell me."

Crowley looked back at him. "Sounds like a very unbalanced relationship."

"It was never a relationship," said Castiel coldly. "Obviously."

Crowley ignored him for the moment, stepping outside fully and keeping his eyes on both ends of the hallway. No one seemed to be coming, but he couldn't be sure with the sounds coming from the throne room. He gestured towards Castiel to follow him, but quickly and quietly. The Fallen approached the doorway and came close, staying on his heels and Crowley led him further down the hall.

He reached a blank stretch of wall that was right next to the King's bedroom. No way he was going in there.

"Isn't that playing it too close?" Castiel whispered.

"Maybe," said Crowley. "But I never slept in the same bed as Dean did, even when I was King. Gross. Germs."

Castiel rolled his eyes and watched as Crowley began to trace the outline of what would be a door on the blank stretch of wall. When it was made, there was a faint glowing red outline. Crowley knocked on it three times and the "door" became transparent, revealing a new room inside.

"After you," said Crowley, gesturing towards it.

Castiel cast him a look before he stepped through. What he expected to find was a shabby bedroom hidden away. He didn't expect to find what looked like a mini-library. Except what was on the shelves were not books. It was various tomes and scrolls written in different shades of glowing ink. Spells. Curses. The works. It was strange to find it here...and how it had remained hidden for this long. Dean with his superior senses should have been able to sense this much magic just laying in wait for him. There were a few windows all curtained with dusty black drapes.

"There's a ward spell on this room," said Crowley, as if detecting the direction of Castiel's thoughts. "I took my precautions."

"You slept here?" Castiel asked, seeing no bed.

"Slept on the floor, yes," said Crowley, stepping in after him and waving a lazy hand towards the transparent entrance which became solid again, tombing them inside.

"Not very hygenic for a king, Crowley," said Castiel, stepping further inside and approaching a bookcase full of tomes written in glowing red ink. "You seem to have every spell known here."

"Hardly," said Crowley modestly. "This is just a collection. Most of these spells I don't know myself."

"How does that make sense? " Castiel countered. "Scrolls and tomes require a mere touch by a Will user in order to learn the spell."

"Magic is dangerous, Castiel. It's a dangerous practice, despite the fact that we use it in our battles every day. The power to use your own will to live to control the elements...It's not an easy path to take. That's why I take the precaution of using gloves."

Castiel refrained himself from rolling his eyes this time. "So why have you brought me here? Are we hiding?"

"Most of these spells are minor. Ward spells to protect against even the strongest use of Will. Very useful...But some of these call upon the dark arts. As I said, however, I'm a collector," said Crowley, placing a hand on his chest as though he was rather proud of himself. "So there are other spells here as well...Ones that would surely prove to be of use even against let's say an arrogant king juiced on the power of his twisted ritual topside."

Castiel looked at him square in the eyes then. "I know what you're saying."

"You don't have a cho-"

"I'm not hurting Dean," said Castiel firmly.

"You don't have a choice!" Crowley spewed in one breath. "He's going to kill you if you don't. You may as well take care of him before he takes care of you."

"I'm. Not. Hurting. Dean," said Castiel. "I don't care for your opinion."

"You don't kill him first, he's going to kill you. And guess what, Castiel? Game over. He'll have Law, Memory, Retribution and Compassion. He'll be unstoppable. It's not just Dante he'll destroy. You feel bad, don't you? You just said it, you let those people die. Try the whole planet. Try every life in the world. Try all of them...all because you couldn't kill your boyfriend."

For a moment, Castiel stood there and let his imagination take him to where Crowley wanted it to go. He saw the barren world, the lifeless bodies burying themselves deeper into the earth underneath a crimson sky. Buildings were toppled and ruined. No city was discernible, because they were gone. He saw the fire that burned Chicago, the power that razed Manhattan. It was all-consuming.

Ever since Castiel was fledgling, he was taught about the Earth and it's importance. It was strange that even as a Fallen, he felt a strange sense of despair at knowing this planet could succumb to death. What was the point in doing such a thing? To destroy the world and have it end with nothing? What was the gain there?

But Dean wouldn't stop with Earth if he became Dominion. He'd go after Heaven. To justify Carmen's death, he would seek revenge where it happened. He wasn't a fool. As Crowley had put it, Heaven was the one who destroyed Carmen. Dean would seek them out on some misguided attempt for revenge and end up killed himself.

And yet..

"I'm not going to hurt Dean," said Castiel, barely a whisper now.

Crowley nodded as if that was the answer he was expecting. "You love him."

Castiel gave a half-hearted shrug. "Love is pain. No one said it would be easy. I never had an instruction manual on it. It just happened...One day, my focus was him, and it consumed me. It still does. I can't stand the idea of him hurt...even now. I want him safe...even if he doesn't want me...safe."

Too long of a pause for that last word. Crowley just stared at him. "You're really not a good Fallen, you know that, Castiel?"

"It was corruption that made me fall," said Castiel, running his hand over the wood underneath the stack of scrolls and tomes, but not touching any of them physically. "Your Maker. Dante. He deceived me. Used me. I should blame him, but in the end, I did get what I want. I _did_ get Dean. No one can argue that. I never specified I wanted him back in the same condition I had him in."

Crowley stared at the back of Castiel's head for a long moment, then he disappeared, walking through his bookshelves and rustling around like he was looking for something particular.

"Ah, there it is," Crowley muttered to himself. There was a strange clicking noise then Crowley reappeared, wearing gloves and presenting Castiel with a scroll that had distinct, golden colored ink inside of it.

"What's this?"

"What you need," said Crowley. "You're going to have to trust me on this, Castiel."

"You don't have the best track record," Castiel pointed out.

"Neither do you," Crowley bit back. "But this is yours...You could say it was made for you. It's not something I can use. But you'll find better use of this."

Castiel didn't dare touch it. His eyebrow furrowed in suspicion. "...Is this what I think it is?"

"Let's just say...this is going to even the odds a little bit in your favor,"

* * *

><p>Everything was so perfect.<p>

Dean stood before a grand army. Never had so many demons stood in the palace before. Lucifer would never allow it and neither would Crowley. But they lined up in front of him in rank, the hooded demons known famously known as the Order of Tarana. It would be so easy to assemble them and attack the mortal plane and wipe it clean within a matter of hours.

And it would be justified.

He stood in front of them, crossed his arms and simply looked. Dante could never create an army this large. His shadowcrawler were mindless shadows that would pale in comparison to the demons that Dean had created, as though with his own hand.

With the knowledge he now had to extract the fragments from the other vessels. He would be invincible. Nothing could stop him. No power in Earth, Heaven or Hell stood a single chance against him.

Dean didn't hear Castiel's approach as the Fallen stood by his side.

"Is everything ready?" Castiel asked.

"Very soon," said Dean, reaching up to scratch his neck. He was doing that more frequently now, as if those new veins and protrusions were hurting him somehow. "It'll only be a matter of time, angel. I don't expect Dante to give into my challenge. My experience thus far with him knows that he is a coward."

"So you're taking the challenge to him," said Castiel mildly.

"That's the plan," said Dean without looking at him. "Did Crowley finally croak?"

"He's dead," Castiel confirmed. "No doubt Dante's felt it."

"Good," Dean was pleased. "About time, don't you think? He was a nuisance. No one can rule a throne like someone pure bred from the bloodline that created it."

"I agree," said Castiel. He stepped away from the throne, towards the army that Dean had assembled. Lost, vacant expressions looked back at him, looking past him...dead. This wasn't an army. This was a disaster in the making. These demons were cannon fodder.

"I've been meaning to talk to you, angel," said Dean to Castiel's back.

"Oh?"

"Yes," said Dean, taking a step towards him. His voice sounded strangely morose. "I know I've upset you since Chicago. I know you've been a little...shaken by the whole thing...and I've done very little to quell your concerns. For that, I'm sorry."

Castiel's eyebrows furrowed, but he still didn't turn Dean's way. Not yet.

"You have to understand why I'm doing this. Dante is a threat, angel. As long as he's alive. We'll never be able to live in peace. You and I. I just want...you to be safe, you understand that right? I would never...I would _never_ let anything...or anyone hurt you."

Castiel's lip twitched and he turned his head in Dean's direction. "Thank you for saying that."

"I mean every word," Dean promised.

"I'm glad," said Castiel, taking another step forward, away from Dean.

"I really care for you, Castiel," said Dean.

"You know something, Dean. When we were in Chicago...and I witnessed the death of that city. I was scared of you. I can even admit that. If I looked back on it recently, I could say I was scared just of you. But now that I think about it...I'm not scared of you. You don't frighten me. I'm scared _for_ you. I don't know what darkness has taken root inside of you, it's just going to keep growing," said Castiel slowly. "It's not something I ever thought I would see. To see a human soul, a demon, slowly become what he hates the most."

"Who says I hate what I am?" Dean scoffed.

"I'm glad to see you're enjoying yourself," said Castiel quietly.

"Of course I am," said Dean as if stating the obvious. He approached the throne and lowered himself on it. "What's to dislike about this life, Castiel? I have a throne. You and I have a big castle all to ourselves. And it's all about expanding territory. We'll just get more from here. Lay our claim to the land."

"What right do we have to do that?" Castiel asked.

"What right don't we have?" Dean snapped. "We're better, Castiel. Special, perfect...whatever little adjective you want. We're that. We deserve what we can. We deserve...so much more."

Castiel sighed to himself, feeling frustration seem to sting him. He couldn't look at Dean.

"Let me ask you something," said Castiel. "And I want you to answer me honestly. Can you please do that?"

"Of course, angel. Anything you want to know," said Dean, crossing his legs and leaning back in his seat.

Castiel expelled a harsh breath and then slowly turned to face Dean. He looked him square in the eyes. "I saw the contraption in the room before Crowley died. It looked like you were trying to get something out of his head. Can you tell me what it was that you were looking for?"

Dean met his gaze evenly. "You look so scared. It's okay, Castiel. Of course I can tell you anything. I wanted information. Crowley's a traitor you see. There was bound to be some information he had about the Shadowalker's whereabouts. Where he goes when he's hiding...I'm sure he's had a few. He did, after all, spend a long time here before his venture into Treachery."

Castiel looked thoughtful for a moment, but he kept his expression smooth of what he was feeling on the inside. Unexpected heat was forming inside his stomach that made him feel sick. His fingers had curled into his palm, digging into skin, making them bleed. His heart was hammering, but not out of nervousness as he might have thought. It was rage. His own body had reacted unconsciously to Dean's words, so universally offended that he was being lied to.

"It was necessary, angel," said Dean. "I told you. I would never let anything happen to you. I was prepared to ensure that at all costs. I'm sorry, you know? I'm sorry if that demon meant anything to you...I just thought-"

Castiel struggled to keep his calm. "You know...this is one of those rare moments, where you get to be completely honest. So if I ask you...what you took from Crowley...Assume I'm asking a rhetorical question. Assume I already know."

Dean held his eyes for a long moment. And in Dean's eyes, Castiel saw the familiar green he knew well, but there were shadows there clinging underneath the surface, shrouding the man he once knew and loved.

Dean broke away from looking at him first. "...The world is a cruel tempest, angel. Natural selection has existed for too long. It's only common that it exists even in this day and age. I'm Law, angel. My mere word supercedes any written word, any spoken word. I could control the movement of the very heavens if I wanted. That is what makes me valuable, my dear angel, and that is why _you_ are not."

"I'm not valuable?" Castiel repeated.

"I'm sorry. I never wanted it to be like this. You know that," said Dean, pressing his hands together imploringly.

Castiel blinked. Again, he felt the rage settle in, this time merged with the raw feeling of rejection.

"I'm sure," said Castiel. "All this, Dean. For power."

"For doing what I'm meant to do!" Dean shouted, rising to his feet. "I'm _embracing_ my destiny, angel. That's all I want to do. That's all I've _been_ doing."

"That is poor justification, Dean. I don't want to hear it," said Castiel, holding up a hand and backing away from him. "I'm done. We're done. I should have known what I had gotten myself into...but..."

"You're not going anywhere," said Dean in a feral growl, stepping forward in a high stride. But he stopped when something shined in front of him, red and bright. It was near-physical, but not seen until it was attempted to be breached. A magic barrier. "What...What is this?"

"A test, that you failed," said Castiel, remaining calm on the other end. He raised a hand and curled his fingers. Immediately, as if in domino effect, the legion of Dean's demons behind him rose off the ground three feet. Each demon was struck by three bolts of pure red lightning straight through the chest.

Dean's growl of rage remained curled in his chest. "WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!"

"A spell. You know, demons have more weaknesses then we're aware of," said Castiel. "Holy water hurts...Stigma hurts...but nothing quite purges a demonic infestation better than the light wrought from Heaven."

"CASTIEL," Dean snarled.

"It's pure, you see. It takes faith to remain connected to the legion. What the legion does thereafter is none of your concern. Corruption exists everywhere, even in Heaven," Castiel explained. "Faith. Is what gives an angel his strength."

Castiel dropped his hand and reached for the collars of his jacket and pulled them off. The second he did, a light burst from Castiel's body, blinding Dean from the bright radiation. It took the castle. He could barely register the screeching cries of the demons he had gathered to form rank. His entire army. All cut off by a high-pitched sound that Dean had grown familiar with as the cry of an angel in it's true voice. He covered himself on instinct, falling backwards.

Dean didn't have to physically see it. He knew what was happening. The storm clouds that Castiel had formed for him over the entire planet had completely vanished, revealing the true sky above it, radiating glow from the Heavens. It hadn't done that before Castiel cast the storm spell. He was projecting _that_ as well.

Dean had fallen so far back, he had toppled over the throne and was shielded by it. But when he rose, he saw Castiel...and it was not the Castiel he had been looking at moments ago.

It was the Castiel he had met before. The first time. Castiel's dark clothing was replaced by silver armor covering his chest, the top part of his legs and part of his arms up to the elbows. He had the same plated silver gauntlets on his hands, and the same armor plating was used for his boots. Scant skin remained exposed on Castiel. And from his back underneath a red cape, two wings unfurled, large and white, taking the span of both pillars Dean had on either side of the entrance hall.

This was the way Dean had first encountered him. The proud angel. The Celestial.

The sword he had at his belt that he pulled out was no longer black on the hilt but silver once more as he remembered it long ago. He raised it eye level and saw his reflection across the blade. There was still that faint design, that trace of lightning lining it.

Castiel allowed the light he had created to fade away, slowly seeping back towards himself where it remained shining as an aura around his wings. And still, Castiel never left his eyes from Dean the entire time, measuring his expression, his fallen stance. The entrance hall was completely clear save for Dean and himself. This was an empty realm for the king to rule over.

Dean was struggling to stand up again, using the toppled throne to support his stance as he rose to his feet. Even then, it looked like the spell to invoke Heaven's light had staggered him at least. But it had no other effect. Dean was stronger than other demons after all.

And yet with Castiel's light shedding on him, he could see too clearly, the damage that the darkness had done to him. With the powers of a celestial returned to him, Castiel need only close his eyes to see Dean's true form without invoking his power through Retribution. Dean's soul, like any other human was meant to be made of a pure white light. That was almost completely obscured in the vision that Castiel was seeing through now. It was like globs of shapeless darkness was sloshing inside his entire being.

Crowley reappeared, standing behind Castiel, also under the protection of the barrier that Castiel had placed. His eyes fell on Dean and Castiel standing and facing each other. Crowley looked much better than before. He must have used some type of healing spell on himself from his collection. Only the cracked, dried blood stains remained as evidence for something happening to him.

Castiel didn't acknowledge him, but Dean did, his eyes flickering over to Crowley and back. "I should have known...You're with him. Is this your choice then, angel? To side with Dante's rejected animal over me?"

"Castiel, we need to leave. We need to leave, now," said Crowley imploringly. There were several scrolls that he had pulled from the shelves and placed inside his inner jacket pockets that Castiel could see when he glanced in the demon's direction.

But Castiel did not wane his gaze from Dean long. He stepped through the barrier, right in the face of the angry demon. It was brave, but at this moment, he knew his power level was on par with Dean's, just as Crowley had predicted. A demon and angel. The natural enemies of Heaven and Hell.

"MY choice?" Castiel repeated in a growl. He pulled Dean close to him through handfuls of his tank top, so that their faces were inches apart. The demon had always been taller, but Castiel felt like he towered over him. "No. I rebelled for this? For you? I gave _everything_ for you. And _this_ is what you give to me?"

"Castiel! We have to go!" Crowley shouted.

Castiel dropped the demon, let him fall back on the upturned throne. Dean stumbled just as Castiel turned away.

And caught sight of what Crowley was doing. He had drawn out a pistol, and maybe at first sight it looked like the human weapons, but Castiel could smell the faint smell of the stigmatus plant in powder form inside of the magazine.

"Crowley! What are you doing?!"

"Sorry, Your Majesty...But you _need_ this done to you," said Crowley slowly, clicking the hammer back.

"NO! DON'T! I don't want you to hurt him!" Castiel shouted.

"Old habits and the like," Crowley raised his head and pulled trigger at last.

It was like slow motion. Castiel watched the bullet leave the pistol with a tiny stream of fire behind it. His eyes narrowed as it went straight for Dean, who was on his knees. He looked up, his eyes wide as the bullet cascaded through the barrier as if it didn't exist straight between Dean's eyes.

Castiel struck like a cobra, striking the air and cleaving the bullet in half, but not before it's contents exploded like a massive black cloud and burst in Dean's face. The demon buckled in agony, clutching his face but not before Castiel and Crowley caught a glimpse of the red boils that began to appear on his face which he quickly tried to cover.

"Dean!" Castiel called, reaching for him.

"No time, Castiel! Come on!" Crowley shouted, turning for the door. "It's clear! Come on!"

"Dean...," Castiel murmured, kneeling down just as Dean collapsed to his knees in pain. "I'm sorry."

"No...You're not...," Dean growled, glaring at Castiel with promise from between his fingers. "...Not yet. Not...yet...but _you will be._"

Castiel opened his mouth to say something, but Crowley called him again, this time with the threat and promise of leaving him behind. Castiel rose and followed, sprinting after Crowley.

In the rush to catch up to him, Castiel, felt his fury inside reach boiling point. "You shot him! How could you?!"

"And he _tortured_ me! All's fair in love and war, Celestial! You should know that better than anyone!"

"We can't just leave him like this!"

"Sure we can! I took out an insurance policy too!" said Crowley smugly. He raised his hand mid-run and snapped his fingers once. There was a sound like a bang as Castiel glanced up and saw a pillar begin to crack and splinter from the ceiling.

"What the...? What are you doing?!"

"Fireburst spell! It'll collapse the whole castle! Come on!" Crowley yelled back, grabbing a hold of Castiel's arm. As soon as they cleared the entrance hall and made it outside, Crowley made the jump just as another series of explosions came from behind them.

Castiel felt fire lick the back of his legs and almost sear through his armor but they jumped just in time to hit the ground on their front, rolling down the stone steps just as the castle begin to as expected, collapse. The ceiling, the roof, the pillars that held the throne room in tact began to falter and plummet. Castiel could only imagine it all. Could only imagine Dean crushed beneath it all and the thought scared him.

"It's going to kill him!" Castiel said, getting up and making for the entrance.

Crowley grabbed his arm. "He's not dead! This is just buying us some time, Castiel, let's go!"

And he dragged him this time, the echoing sounds of the castle collapsing following them all the way into the caves where Crowley led them straight to the dimensional door. The cave halls seemed so much bigger and longer the last time that Castiel had been here, but perhaps without the Imperial guards, there wasn't much stock to them.

The light at the end of the tunnel...Quite literally what they were reaching for it. Castiel looked back one final time before they cleared it and Crowley grabbed him around the chest and pushed him through it until they finally reached the mortal plane above.

* * *

><p>The castle was still collapsing.<p>

And yet there was only one life form inside of it that took the brunt of the attack. Hell had been emptied of all the demons that once inhabited it after all, save for the Order of Tarana...which was nothing more than a memory now.

The rubble pile up in the entrance hall was massive, and still growing. No one could have survived that. No one who stayed inside, especially someone injured.

Step. Step. Step.

It was loud, these steps, even over the sound of the hellfire burning everything in sight. The fire, like all fire wrought in Hell, was made from Dean himself, which made it a suitable substance to destroy the castle.

The being knelt before the head of the debris and kept a hand over his raised thigh. He looked down at the rubble, removed a particularly large piece of pillar and pushed it aside to reveal the body underneath.

"My, your Majesty...This has not been a good day for you, has it?" A highly amused voice said from above.

Dean grunted. He found he could still move, albeit very little. The demon felt his injuries too much. His lower body was crushed underneath the rubble and it felt like he had been paralyzed from the waist down. The flesh on his face felt like it had been skinned off completely. He must have looked hideous. Nothing like his old self. He rolled over onto his back and groaned loud when he felt something protrude and stab into his back. His eyes flickered over the figure above him. In the darkness of the castle, it looked like a floating white skull was talking to him.

"Graaaaahhhhh," Dean groaned incoherently. "...M'...hallucinating now..."

"No, I'm real. Very real. Kind of unfortunate for you, isn't it," said the voice.

"Wh..Who're...yoooou...,"

The being raised a gloved hand over his face and pulled from the blackness, removing the mask that covered his face. He looked vaguely familiar to Dean, but the King, still lost in his own pain, couldn't place him just yet. He just saw silver, too much silver that it could resemble a blade.

Dean's eyes cleared from the blur, and he took in stock a man no older than him...on the outside at least, wearing a long grey jacket with matching colored hair. Strange...He seriously felt like he had seen him before, but he couldn't quite place him.

"Blackburn. Virgil Blackburn. It's an honor, Your Majesty," said Virgil from above him. "Not looking too well from your recent affliction, are you...I can take care of the worst of these wounds."

He ran a hand over Dean's face and instantly the mass of blood and boils began to clear up from the Stigma. His eyes flickered over the show of black veins that had almost completely encompassed Dean's face."I've stopped the infection from travelling to your heart...But that...on your face...Well,_ that_, you did to yourself. Can't do anything about that."

"Get off me," Dean growled, reaching up and catching Virgil around the wrist.

"Stop," said Virgil firmly. "I'm here to help you."

"I don't work with Fallen," Dean growled.

"Your former company would argue...but regardless. I'm helping you. You want to live, then you're going to have to trust me,"

"Why," said Dean flatly.

"Because we want the same thing, Your Majesty," said Virgil matter-of-factly.

"What is that," said Dean in that same tone.

Virgil leaned down, close enough so his lips grazed Dean's ear. "The death of Dante Shadowalker."


	12. 36 Hours

Dean woke up in an unfamiliar place. He was no longer in the first circle, that was for sure. Or Hell in general, for that matter. He was back on the mortal plane. That was enough to make his first waking expression a scowl. He was on a very hard bed in a small, shabby room that had nothing spectacular.

In his false memories as a human hunter with Michael, he identified this as a motel. Truly, this was the worst place he could find himself in...There was a small tv in the corner of this one bedroom that was currently off, and there was a small bathroom to the right of him.

Dean didn't wish to remember much. He'd rather have removed the memories if he could of what he saw last before he lost consciousness. He remembered Castiel...and what he had done. The tumbling thoughts that told him what happened in the throne room was infuriating. And hurtful...He remembered Crowley's stupid face before he fired the trigger containing the infectious poison, Stigma. He remembered the throne room collapsing in on itself through a spell simply known as Fireburst. It was a spell Dean himself had created and he was surprised that Dante's mentally incompetent demon managed to learn it. He must have read all the spell tomes that Dean had created before he fell into Treachery during his own 'reign'. That demon...what a joke of a King.

And he had turned Castiel against him. It was his own fault for hooking the demon up to the Extract machine that was made to remove memories. Dean hadn't anticipated that Crowley would survive what he had done to him...but he had. And he had poisoned Castiel.

Not that...Castiel didn't have a reason.

Dean didn't want to reflect on that either, on what was said, what was admitted. Looking back made him flush inside.

The Stigma Crowley used should have killed him. It made contact and was dangerous to any demon...Dean didn't feel like he had succumbed to the poison. You'd think his mind would dream up a better afterlife than this. He did feel strange heat near his heart that was reminiscent of what he felt when he had killed Celestials in times past and drained them of their Grace.

"Try not to move too much," said a voice from the corner.

Dean glanced in that patch of darkness in the corner where it came from and saw the Fallen he saw in the castle. The same one who had said they were on the same side shortly before Dean probably lost consciousness.

His first instinct instead was to reach for his sword, which was surprisingly still strapped to his back. Dean expected that the Fallen would rob him of it. Past experience with them didn't make Dean exactly warm up to the current predicament. He sat up and wrenched his weapon and let the room glow faintly with the golden light from the blade.

"You should calm down, Your Majesty. I'm not here to hurt you," Virgil stepped out from the shadow. "If I wanted to do that, I would have done it already. It wouldn't work for me, anyway. You fragments are harder to kill than any other being in the universe."

Dean froze in the act of placing his sword back in its sheath. "Oh. Well informed, are we?"

"More than you know," Virgil tilted his head. "Let's just say I had a past experience with the being that you broke away from."

Dean found his jacket on the carpet next to the bed. He put the sword down next to him for the time being and reached for it, plucking it off the ground and sliding his arms through the sleeves. "So, A Fallen. Is it my birthday? Where have you brought me?"

"You've probably guessed this isn't Hell. This is the mortal plane. I've brought you back to Earth. Believe it or not, this is the safest realm there is._ Especially_ for you."

"Is that a threat? Not very subtle," Dean remarked, voice dripping with venom. "Look...Fallen...Give me a _good_ reason why I shouldn't destroy you. Make it good. My patience is very limited."

"You don't want to kill me, Your Majesty," said Virgil calmly. "Why would you do that when you haven't even heard my plan?"

"Your plan? Is this supposed to be the moment where I'm so desperate for help that I turn to a mortal enemy for help?"

"Don't be so pessimistic, Your Majesty. You've worked with Fallen before," said Virgil. "Why, weren't you even _seeing_ one socially?"

Dean's eyes narrowed. "I worked with a Fallen, you're right. But I've been at war with Fallen since the moment I took the throne...I killed a great deal of them. Aside from Dante, they _should_ all be dead...but again, I think I've seriously lost my touch at genocide."

"Yes, you've put quite a dent in the number of Fallen that were loyal to Lucifer. Haven't you considered that not _all_ Fallen were under Lucifer's thumb? That some of us had a mind of our own and decided to venture elsewhere? Your recent involvement with Dante should have told you so. I would have _hardly_ considered him a follower of Lucifer during the great war," said Virgil.

"I suppose you are one of those _unique_ individuals, yourself," said Dean in a bored voice. "Where is this going? I don't care for Fallen whether they were loyal to my Father or not. It's a matter of principle. You disgust me with your mere presence."

Virgil stood completely upright, his face no longer partially covered by shadow and took a few steps towards him. "That's high talk coming from someone who just lost their entire demon armada to a celestial in a moment of sentimental weakness."

Dean appeared unafraid. "Are you saying I have something to fear now that the Order of Tarana has been decimated? Keep in mind, Fallen...that I don't _need_ an army to execute any manner of threat."

"Oh, I'm sure that's true," said Virgil. "I'm sure you're right. You don't need an army. But you do need someone, Your Majesty. You will not last long by yourself, no matter how powerful you are. You just made an enemy out of your fellow fragment vessels. If I'm not mistaken, Castiel is on his way to Dante as we speak. Even you cannot take the two of them, especially with your source of power disrupted."

Virgil approached the window, took a hold of the long white string and yanked on it, pulling the blinds up. Dean scowled as a light shone through and nearly toppled over on the bed.

But it was just sunlight.

"Castiel cast a spell to radiate Heaven's Light over the mortal realm...and some of that light filtered into your kingdom as well...wiped out your army...and nearly killed you as well. You missed out on all the fun though, Your Majesty. Castiel didn't just destroy the Order of Tarana...He purged the entire planet of the demonic influence you created," said Virgil. It was infuriating how calm he was acting when he was speaking of something like this. "So, I suppose that threat you made over the television to call out Dante...is feeble...and weak. Not truly backed up by anything to fear."

"Dante's dying," said Dean dismissively. "I got the information I needed to take care of Castiel and Dante. Dante's an easy target at this moment."

"You think so. But he has allies...What you need to do...is continue on like nothing has passed. Ensure that your enemies still have something to fear from you," said Virgil fervently, drawing close and placing both palms flat on the bed so he could lean towards Dean. Normally Dean would lean back in some revulsion, but he listened. "You made a threat to destroy a city every hour unless someone brought you Dante. Make good on that."

Dean glowered at him for a moment before looking away. "I can't. I don't have the firepower."

"You have me. You have me now," said Virgil. "I'm going to help you make good on that."

"Why?" Dean snapped. "You're a _Fallen_. You and I have every reason to destroy one another and you want to work together? To what do I owe this unexpected fealty?"

"Let's just say...Dante wronged me in the past and I...want to see you victorious," said Virgil. "I wish for nothing more."

"You wish to see me victorious," said Dean, looking like he was on the edge of laughter. "Is that right? What happened? How did the Shadowalker wrong you, Virgil, was it?"

Something flickered across Virgil's face. His lips twitched, his jaw moved and locked into place. It looked like he was suppressing something very unpleasant. When he spoke again, it was a tone of forced calm. " He promised me something, long ago...when I wanted him to make good on it. He spurned me. I've spent a great deal of time looking for a way to kill him. And then you came along."

"Convenient for you. You _do_ know what will happen if I end up victorious over Dante, don't you?" Dean asked.

"Of course. You get one step closer to becoming Dominion. Which is what you want, right? I offer a proposal. I'll deliver Dante to your doorstep. In fact, I'll do you one better. I'll deliver Dante and Castiel both to your doorstep. In exchange for you doing me one grand favor," said Virgil.

"Which is?"

"You kill him. You kill Dante. Simple. It's a fair price, I think. I ask you to merely kill someone you already want to kill," said Virgil.

"Haha...," Dean chuckled. "I feel a need to decline. I'm pleasing a Fallen in the process after all. That's grounds to forfeit."

"Yes, but you're not going to do that," Virgil leaned closer. "Are you? Your need for power overshadows your need to displease me."

Virgil made him sound like Lucifer. Castiel's words echoed in his mind.

_You've spent your entire life trying to stray from Lucifer's influence...but now...You're acting just like him._

How he detested that the bastard Fallen who created him could make an impact even in death.

And he hated that Castiel was somehow surfacing in his mind again. The feel of his betrayal was still raw. And it made him angry. Angry that he was resorting to this measure. He didn't want to work with a Fallen. So what if he had worked with Castiel in the past when he was Fallen? That was for obvious reasons. That didn't mean he liked them. The moment he took the throne, they tried to overthrow him. They would have rather had no King then had him there. Could anyone blame him for trying to kill them on sight? Dante included.

And it was just their way. They were blood, bone and deception, rolled into one. Almost every word they spoke was a lie or a jaded truth. Demons were not the token saints of Hell, but neither were Fallen by a long shot.

The demons he had lost, he didn't feel their loss as a leader losing their prized men. It was just inconvenient now. The Order were mindless slaves that were made to do his bidding and now they were gone. If he had the chance to take down Heaven after becoming Dominion, the chance of his survival had lowered considerably.

"I want to show you something," said Virgil. And he left Dean's proximity, thank God. Instead he approached the television. He flipped the switch on and showed the news network playing on the screen. The display was of one of the high commanding generals of the U.S military speaking in an interview to a national news team. The headline below read, " THREAT AGAINST COUNTRY A HOAX?" in large bold letters with other news crawling below.

"...So what you're saying, General Gordon is that the American people should disregard the blatant threats made on television?" A female reporter with very long blonde hair and square glasses was saying to the old General.

"Not disregard. Exercise caution, of course. Always. But we believe that the threat made on television was a very cruel prank done by unknown assailants. We are working all of our men down to the grind in order to find the individual that we all saw."

"But General, the entire world witnessed President Maxwell's death on live television at the hands of this man!" The reporter told him in scandalized tones. "Wouldn't it be better if we negotiated accordingly? He asked us to bring a man to-"

"We are not negotiating with terrorists," said the General firmly.

"But there was...a display. Of some unknown power that the military and the government have yet to identify."

"The special effects on screen should not be taken seriously," said the General dismissively. "What can you possibly be suggesting? That what, magic exists? There's no such thing. We do, however believe that the man who appeared on the television is unlike us. A black sheep or a mutant. Like I said. This was a hoax. He dared to murder our president and threaten our people and then ask us to bring an innocent life to him. There will be no negotiation. We will counter his threat with one of our own. If any one knows _anything_ about the man that issued the threat, you will be rewarded." He looked directly into the camera as he said it.

"That's cute," said Dean, crossing his arms. "A counter threat to a 'mutant'. I didn't think their species was capable of that."

"Isn't it strange how even when they see something clear as a crystal before them, that they still disregard it as something more? You're a mutant to them because of your physical appearance," said Virgil. "Which I can also agree is quite-"

"Shut up," Dean growled.

The general was continuing. "We believe President Maxwell left a means to dispatch of this enemy. We're taking every precaution possible, but we may have a way."

"How, General?"

"Through this," said the General and he pulled out a silver pistol with an angelic design of the Archangel Michael stomping on Lucifer's head. The famous painting. Dean stared at it as the camera zoomed in. "We've identified the compound inside this pistol as a not-so-well-known poison called Stigmatus Inferno. It seems the suspect left it inside the President's office upon his departure."

Virgil looked over then. "Looks like you should have done a more thorough cleaning."

Dean scowled. "So what. Humans have Stigma now. They'll never be able to shoot me with it."

"You and that poison don't have a very pleasant history, do you? You almost got shot point blank in the face by Crowley. It's only by my ward spell that I placed..._inside_ you," Virgil pointed a long, gloved finger directly at his face. "...that you're still alive right now."

Dean glanced down at himself. He shot Virgil a cold look before he lifted his shirt up and saw his bare chest. It was very subtle and you really couldn't see it unless you were up close and personal. But there was a faint glow there that seemed to switch on and off. Silver in color. It was a ward spell indeed. A strong one...but all wards were capable of falling.

"Is there a cruel stipulation to this that I should be aware of?" Dean asked.

"Just that if you overwork your power, the ward might fall, and the infection I'm keeping from reaching your heart just might poke it...and you'll probably die," said Virgil very lightly. "Death for our kind is not as worrisome as it is for others. You've died before, haven't you?"

"I fell into the ninth circle," said Dean.

"By your own choice, am I right?" Virgil countered. "I know a lot more than you think, Your Majesty."

"Sounds like you're a spy," Dean noted. "Why should I believe that Dante promised you something and 'spurned' you? Your name is fucking Virgil. Dante and Virgil. I read the wikipedia. Famous names...and coincidental in that they're the same ones from the book?"

"A story is a story, Your Majesty. You shouldn't put everything on what you read in storybooks," said Virgil quietly.

"I didn't read _Inferno_," said Dean. "Dante was _very_ irrelevant to me when I first laid eyes on him. He made himself relevant. Demanded my attention. Demanded everyone's attention, pretty much. He's reaping the consequences of that decision now. ...But it's something to look at. Dante and Virgil. Characters from _Dante's Inferno_. Virgil was Dante's guide, you know. The one who took him all the way down to-"

"The Ninth Circle of Hell," Virgil finished. His expression was smooth and unreadable. "You're right. But the Dante of that story was searching for a way to save his lost love. The Dante you know was banished by his King."

Dean met his eyes squarely. "I don't regret my decision."

"I would not expect you to," said Virgil. "I'm not saying he didn't deserve it, Your Majesty. He very much did. He was a cruel being. I encountered him before all that, of course. When he was a young Fallen who had just been pulled from the apple tree, slowly rotting to the core. He was naive then, simple-minded and very much in despair over his situation. He did not wish to embrace it. So I offered a solution. I offered to guide him. To place him on the right path. I offered him a chance to make his life make a difference."

Dean raised his knees on the bed, waving a dismissive hand to shut off the television. It was just noise now in the background, and he'd rather not have heard more news that the humans were getting smarter. He'd have to be careful now, yes, but he'd never hide. He wasn't like Dante who had yet to show his face. He hoped the injury he gave him was painful.

"Let me guess, he betrayed you,"Dean surmised. "My verdict on sending him to Treachery was probably right."

"In a matter of speaking," Virgil conceded. "My interest in Dante was not my own, I can tell you that. I don't make it my business to play with young Fallen, I can tell you that."

"So you work for someone else," Dean was shaking his head at him. "Figures you'd be a towel boy. Lay it on me, Fallen. Who sent you?"

"Correction. I _was_ a towel boy," Virgil didn't appreciate the term, making a face. " I'm not anymore. But I'm surprised _you_ don't know, Your Majesty. Indeed, I'm wondering why you didn't recognize me at first sight."

"What are you getting at?" Dean asked impatiently.

"It seems Dominion was selective in the memories he chose to share with you," said Virgil, seemingly thinking out loud. "I'm acquainted with him you know. The original. The first. Dominion. It's strange that he would not at least tell you of me."

"Wait, you were Dominion's worker boy? Here I was thinking the stories were true and that Dominion was bound to Lucifer," said Dean, scoffing.

"Not everything is as simplistic as it seems," said Virgil.

"Clearly," Dean commented. He looked thoughtful. Even a little curious like he wanted to ask for more, yet his next words requested no further elaboration. "Can we get on with it? I'm losing patience _and _interest here. Never a good thing."

"Very well...I do wonder, Dean...You know it was your actions that night...when you impaled the Scripture with your sword in Rose Manor...that caused most of this to happen. It was fate, you could say. But I truly do wonder _what_ could have driven you to do such a thing," said Virgil, placing a finger to his lip in speculation. "If you don't mind sharing? Perhaps you could tell me."

"I'm still on the fence on whether I should kill you or not," said Dean bluntly.

"Humor me, then. If you plan on killing me based on some misguided mistrust, then you won't mind. What did Dominion do to you that drove you to such actions?" Virgil prompted.

Dean was silent for a long moment. He gulped a lungful of air and felt it brought no calm to his memory as he went back in that brief second. He didn't want to go down that train of thought. He didn't want to think about what happened that night...and yet he was the only one that remembered out of all those that were there besides Dominion himself. The memory was painful and the sounds of what happened came clear that night. It started out so simple...Just a simple mission to retrieve something that Heaven wanted so that Hell could get the 'ha-ha's' at beating them to it.

Such a simple mission that ended so terribly. Perhaps Dean had some measure of intuition when he insisted on going himself. Fate, as Virgil as put it. Because he remembered how Merrick and Lilith, his old Guardians had requested to go in his stead. And he had insisted.

It was truly the worst night of his life. Even a demon that had lost all of its humanity could understand that.

Virgil watched the play of emotions on Dean's face in thought. His voice was gentle. "...If you don't wish to tell me..."

"I saw...," said Dean steadily. "I saw...a memory that he seemed to pull...out of nowhere...Ha..He was so arrogant. It was like he was expecting us when we walked through that door...I'll never forget his face...He was just a boy, it looked like...but it was so much more. I know that now...but then...It was nothing to me. I just...wanted to get it. I wanted the Scripture because it was important to Heaven and I wanted it first. I never knew...that my Father was playing with fire and toying around with it before. I never knew that. We captured an angel who told us the location of it. It started out so simple...I didn't know what I was getting into."

"Huh," said Virgil after a long moment. "It's strange. You almost sound regretful."

Dean shot him a harsh look, breaking out of the memory he had been forced into. "I may be a demon, but I can still feel-"

"Feelings. Whatever," said Virgil passively. "Take it how you want, Your Majesty. Believe it or not, I think what you did was rather heroic. But...you didn't answer my question. ...What did Dominion show you that drove you to do what you did?"

Dean continued to stare at him, looking rather defiant. He narrowed his eyes after a long moment and it was clear he wasn't going to answer.

"Too traumatic," Virgil noted.

"Look, you said you could bring Dante to me. Are you sure about that?" Dean asked, eager to change the subject.

"I'm very sure," said Virgil smugly. "I can hogtie him and put him right on your doormat...Why, I'll even sweeten the kitty a little bit. How about I bring you Dante _and_ Castiel?"

"And all you want in exchange is for me to kill Dante. Seems too good to be true," said Dean suspiciously.

"You're the only one who can," said Virgil. "_You_ may look down on what happened that night, but truly, Your Majesty...I find you fascinating. Not many could achieve what you have. Not many demons could stand up to Lucifer and hold their ground...Not many people would make the choice to sacrifice their life for the sake of another. Especially not another demon. Not many people could do what you've done. You broke Dominion. The strongest being in the world besides God Himself. "

"I don't need an admirer," said Dean, not affected by the praise.

"Very well, Your Majesty," said Virgil with a sweeping bow. "Shall I, then?"

"And I'm supposed to sit around and take your word for it that you'll come back with what I need," said Dean, raising an eyebrow.

"You needn't sit around like royalty tends to do, Your Majesty. You could always do what I said. Make good on that threat. You honestly think you need an entire army to burn cities to the ground. You've mastered the element of fire, have you not? Go wild, Dean. I'm sure you'd love to hear those words. Let your enemies regret what they've done. Let them all know that you're still alive and there's still a reason to hide,"

Dean grunted but gave no response.

"So then," Virgil murmured, taking his silence for consent and approaching the bed again, extending his hand towards Dean. "Do we have a deal? You kill Shadowalker...Get what you want...and I'll supply the means to do so. Namely the actual object."

Dean stared at his hand. "I don't have to tell you that I'll probably kill you if you double cross me, do I?"

"It wouldn't be fun if there wasn't an incentive to succeed," said Virgil with a smile. "Thirty-Six hours remain...Not too long for you to have your fun, wouldn't you say? I'll be back before then.'

Dean gripped his hand hard, nearly crushing the fingers. If Virgil was anything less than what he was, it would have reduced the bones inside to dust. "We have a deal."


	13. Reunion

One minute he was there, the next minute he was gone.

Angels didn't rest. So that didn't make sense to him. Balthazar allowed Dante his rest. He allowed him to sleep...and he knew the Fallen's condition was worsening. He could barely walk. When the light shone down from the Heavens, Balthazar watched from the windows of an empty mansion, feeling a strange, renewed sense of hope at the sight...

The spell was not a very easy one. It was called Heaven's Light...and even Balthazar had never learned to do it, and he was pretty sure, even with borrowed Grace, he couldn't do it. He didn't know who had done it...but it purged the entire planet of the demonic presence. Heaven's Light was a very condensed form of Heaven's greatest weapon, the Holy Bolt, which was similar in concept but instead of purging only demonic presence, the Holy Bolt could destroy an entire hemisphere. It wasn't exactly the most pure weapon of Heaven's...Indeed, Michael had almost used it before when the attack on Manhattan occurred.

But this was a clear indication that Heaven had not abandoned them. Balthazar's Link to the chain of command seemed to say differently. There were still reports, but he hadn't heard the new High Commander, Metatron in some time. It was like she went missing. Perhaps she died.

Wishful thinking.

No, he shouldn't have thought that way. These were his former...associates. He didn't think he'd ever get to the point of thinking of them as anything more. Not after everything he had gone through. It seemed like no realm was safe from corruption, even Heaven. He got the brunt of this train of thought when he was reassigned from General Gabriel to Raphael. Raphael was extremely corrupt and twisted, but perhaps the actual first indicator that things were wrong was when Dante was exiled and labeled as a Fallen. He hadn't been there during the day of the trial...but he never stopped asking. Because no one else seemed to care, not even the others of his squad.

And strange how they were all dead now. Zachariah. Uriel. Anna. Dead.

Metatron, Dante and himself remained. The only ones who knew that Dante had been innocent of the crime. Conspiracy to work with a Fallen. That was laughable. Dante sometimes had a darker side, even evidenced when he was still a Celestial...but he wouldn't have worked with a Fallen. Not then. Those charges were a cover up. Balthazar wondered for a long time what exactly they were trying to cover up...but as time passed...It was hard to dwell on it. The longer time passed, the more Dante spent below, embracing the dark ways.

An angel fallen from Heaven always had two choices. They could release their ties to Heaven completely and totally...and embrace humanity...or they could use the remaining Will they had to taint it and corrupt it and become the true definition of Fallen.

Dante had taken that route and Balthazar need only reflect on their last encounter. Just before Dante had been banished into Treachery. So much time had passed between Dante's Fall and then...it seemed like Balthazar was looking unto a completely different person when he looked at Dante. The latter almost didn't recognize him, except to smirk and grimace when the realization hit.

It was hard to think of these things when he was searching for that very Fallen. Dante had left without a word. Not that Balthazar was angry at the abandonment because he couldn't defend himself...but because Dante's condition had worsened considerably. He was not safe out there alone. Even if Heaven's Light rained down from the sky and cleansed the world of demons...Dean wasn't dead...at least Balthazar didn't think so. He would be angry. He would be looking.

He had went from town to town in the last day, searching. Most of the people he had spoken to had indeed seen Dante but only in passing. He looked sick when he had entered the various bars, ordering nothing, but talking to other strange people...The bartender he last spoke to said that Dante had stayed almost the whole night before leaving abruptly. He had sick feel to him, the bartender said. Like he was seriously not well and shouldn't have been walking around trying to participate in any sort of activity.

What was Dante doing?

If he had a plan, he should have involved Balthazar.

In hindsight, however...Helping Dante was not helping his own mission really. He didn't know why he was sticking to his old friend. The promise to Sam was not that long ago really...but it felt like ages. He said he would save Dean. Helping Dante was almost the exact opposite of that. He should have been finding him.

But if Dante had a plan...perhaps he could convince Dante to execute it in a way that meant Dean's humanity would be restored, rather than killing him.

It would be hard to convince him of that. Dean wanted Dante dead. It only made sense that Dante would fight back.

If he wasn't weakened, he would have done it already.

Balthazar left the small pawnshop. No luck there. This town was small and slightly secluded. It was also very near the region of Paradise Rock where Rose Manor had been. Like Balthazar expected: Dante did not go far. The townsfolk were not unaware of the going-ons in the real world, but they were also of the belief that it was all a hoax and some elaborate scheme done by a large gang.

So Dante Shadowalker, the man that the "mutant", Dean displayed on television walking through their town was not a big deal for them.

He sighed as he headed down the street. The cold air was actually having somewhat of an affect on him. Not physically. He could ignore the cold with a heat spell and it didn't bother him at all, whether his armor was hidden or not...but it did seem to have an affect on his mood. He was beginning to lose hope that he would find Dante. They were not linked or connected in any sort of way. If Dante was lying somewhere, succumbed to his wounds, Balthazar would have no idea until he physically saw it. Dante's power signature had significantly lowered. Unless Balthazar was close to him, he wouldn't feel him. And he didn't feel even a flicker no matter how far he walked.

He stopped dead on the street. No, he didn't feel Dante. But he did feel something, growing steady closer to him more and more by the minute. His own signature was down, he double checked that. His armor was hidden by civilian clothing...and there shouldn't have been demonic attack. This could only mean angelic. And why, he wondered. Heaven could detect him no matter how low his signature was projecting through the Link. Did Heaven finally figure it out that he wasn't using his own Grace? That the signature detected as Zachariah was not exactly valid? Or perhaps it was someone searching for Zachariah in particular. What a surprise they'd find.

Balthazar's fingers closed around the sword at his belt that he had not yet pulled fully into the physical realm. He didn't mind fighting where mortals could see. At this point, they had seen too much. If they were still ignorant of the truth, then that was their problem. At the moment, fortunately for him, there was no one else on the street. Balthazar wasn't truly linked to Heaven as it was. So he had absolutely no reason to follow their rules of discretion.

But it wasn't a loyalist. Not one he expected. It was like someone had pulled out of lightning speed and manifested in front of him. Gathered fog masked Balthazar's vision for a moment and then it cleared, revealing two. And he recognized those silhouettes but he could scarcely believe it.

"Castiel?" Balthazar breathed.

"Balthazar," Castiel stepped from the fog in one stride, closing the distance between them and wrapping his arms around Balthazar tightly. "It's you...You're safe."

"You too," said Balthazar, hugging him back and then pulling back to look at his face. Castiel was dressed differently. Not the dark clothing that distinguished him as a Fallen but the long tan overcoat over a formal business suit. It was strange to see him in this attire...it felt like ages ago when he saw it. He gave Crowley a glance over his shoulder. He had been captured, but he didn't look it. In fact, he looked fine. Like it had never happened. Had Dean really done nothing to him or did Castiel intercept the demon who had captured him and helped him evade torture?

"You...You're different," Balthazar noted. "Your power...it's untainted. How? You..."

"It's a long story," said Castiel, holding up a hand. "I don't want to get into details."

"It's not a long story," said Crowley, stepping forward too but maintaining his distance. His discomfort was obvious. Two Celestials in his presence was obviously very stifling. "Castiel retained his faith in Heaven and that faith managed to white out his wings."

"That must have been very hard, Castiel...To forego the dark temptation," said Balthazar in some awe.

"Yes, we're all very proud," said Crowley in a bored voice. Straight to the point. "Where's Dante?"

"I...I don't know," said Balthazar. And he hung his head a little bit. "I lost track of him."

"You did what?!" Crowley hissed, outraged. "How? How do you lose track of someone? Someone who's very injured, mind you."

"Because he ran away! Just before the spell hit to purge the planet, he took off when I wasn't looking," Balthazar bit back.

"When you weren't looking," Crowley repeated. "I'm sorry. You should have been looking the entire time. He's injured. He was depending on you to care for him."

"Don't let him hear you say that," said Castiel quietly. "This is not really surprising. I don't think Dante would like to stay in one place for long. Or lay down and die. Perhaps he's doing something productive."

"Besides, shouldn't you be able to track him better? You're his demon. Why can't you find him?" Balthazar snapped at Crowley.

"You know, I didn't think of that," said Crowley sarcastically. "What a positively genius idea, Celestial. We should all take a leaf out of your book."

"Don't start that cra-"

"I can't sense him. Not right now. That spell that this one did," Crowley jerked his head towards Castiel. "Disrupted the flow of Will...or at least jarred it. It's not visible but until it stabilizes, I probably won't be able to feel him."

"That was you?" Balthazar asked, successfully distracted and looking at Castiel with wide eyes. "You cast that spell? You invoked Heaven's Light? Castiel, that spell is serious power. How were you able to do it? Do you feel...drained?"

"I feel fine," Castiel assured him. "Trust me, it was necessary."

"Is Dean...," Balthazar trailed off.

"He's alive," said Crowley before Castiel could answer. "Angry. But alive. If I'm not mistaken, he's taking some well-needed recovery time."

Balthazar measured his smug tone and the look on his face. And he looked from Crowley to Castiel, his eyebrows furrowing. "What did you do?"

"Nothing he didn't have coming," said Crowley. "I don't want to talk in the street. This is not sporting. Let's find somewhere private. Maybe you can tell us if you have any leads on where Dante might have went."

Balthazar led them the opposite direction, making it a point to lead them in the direction of a local bar. It was mid-afternoon and hardly the time for that. But he was banking on not many people being there. His last experience with a bar had all the occupants killed by Dante...so maybe he should have thought of that a little more...

He was fairly confident that Crowley and Castiel were not there to kill everyone.

As expected, the bar was empty when the trio entered. They really didn't look suspicious...or maybe they did. It was cold out, so the coats should have been expected. The staff wasn't even behind the counter. Which was just fine for Balthazar. He led them all to a private booth in the corner that was even out of sight for the actual bar.

"So," Balthazar said, interlocking his fingers together. "You two going to tell me what happened with Dean?"

"I don't know. You going to tell us what happened to Dante?"

"Crowley," said Castiel disapprovingly.

"I already told you I lost him," said Balthazar.

"You did. You've been tracking him. Any leads?" Crowley pushed.

"He's been in this town. He can't fly, Crowley. He couldn't have gotten far," said Balthazar, rolling his eyes.

"And you still haven't found him yet. He can't fly. You can," said Crowley sharply.

"I know you're concerned for him, Crowley. I am too. We're going to find him. I promise," said Balthazar, feeling a slight sting of guilt. He certainly wasn't the best catalyst for making promises. He turned his gaze on Castiel opposite him. "What happened with Dean. Really."

Castiel opened his mouth but yet again Crowley spoke for him. "The King wants what we should have foreseen. He wants to become Dominion. He probed in my head for the way to extract the other vessels of their fragments so he could do so. And one of those vessels just so happen to be Castiel here. We managed to leave the realm and Castiel invoked that spell so he could destroy the activation sites and the demonic presence. He put quite a blow in Dean's defense. Now it's just him."

"That's still a problem," said Balthazar seriously. The situation was not far from how he predicted. "You got rid of his army. Fine. But now he's angry, as you said. And he's going to come after you, Castiel. He's going to come after you both."

"I know," said Castiel quietly.

"Are you prepared?"

"I don't know right now," said Castiel, placing his elbow on the table and resting his chin on his palm. "I'm trying very hard not to think about what'll happen the next time I see Dean."

"He may not be after you right now," said Crowley. If that was meant to be reassuring, his tone wasn't. In fact, he looked rather annoyed at that fact, scowling at Balthazar. "At least with your company, he had some sort of defense. But you let him slip from your grip."

"Look. I'm sorry this is upsetting,' said Balthazar. "I'm sorry. We're going to find him. We just need to keep looking."

"You saw a glimpse in Chicago, Celestial. That demon is not the one you remember. He has almost no humanity inside of him left. There's nothing in him to care about what he does and how he does it. It's almost a completely different person. Except he's driven by mad revenge and fury. There's nothing stopping someone running on pure rage," said Crowley.

"Balthazar," Castiel said before Balthazar could retort. "Is it possible to restore his humanity? Crowley says there are no spells, that this comes from the inside. Is there anything you know? Anything you heard from your time as Commander?"

Balthazar looked thoughtful for a long moment, racking his brain and pulling forth an unpleasant memory. "Dean's been in this state before, Castiel. This is a true demon we're dealing with. I saw it when General Raphael ordered the siege on the palace in Hell and killed Lucifer. Dean took me hostage and he looked exactly the same as he does now. The last thing I remember was that I was facing execution by Merrick and then Gabriel showed up."

"Gabriel?" Castiel raised an eyebrow.

"He cared for Dean, quite a lot. He made me leave before I saw it...but I think it was he who did it. He didn't purify Dean's soul back into a human...but he did partially restore his humanity, somehow," said Balthazar, sighing.

"So it was a spell that may be common for an Archangel," said Castiel. "Perhaps Michael..."

"Michael's captured and Heaven is guarded by thousands of angels. Even if you could get in, they'd kill you on sight," said Balthazar. "I don't think the order to destroy you has gone down yet, Castiel."

"Heaven sure knows how to hold a grudge," said Crowley, leaning back in his seat and looking at Castiel. "You haven't even done the worst thing."

"Helping release Dean from Treachery with the help of Dante Shadowalker would be a high crime to anyone in their right mind. Especially given the state of the world at the current moment," said Castiel. "I'm surprised they haven't come down themselves. The spell I invoked was just a spell. I wonder what they're doing...If they're even aware."

"Metatron killed Carmen," said Balthazar. "They're aware of the situation. They were sending small squads down to take care of some demon infestations...but now that that's been taken care of...They're quiet."

"Maybe they have abandoned humanity," said Crowley, shrugging. "Would not be the first time and I'm not surprised."

"How are you getting this information?" Castiel asked Balthazar.

"I'm still connected to the host...The Grace I'm using...it's not mine," said Balthazar rather reluctantly. "Before Dean...Well, before he went insane...He stole Zachariah's Grace and gave it to me."

"Has that ever happened before?..Is there any...side effects?" Castiel's eyes widened.

"Just that my power signature is recognized at Zachariah's. Convenient for the most part that they think he's not dead and haven't come to investigate that. They don't even care that I'm still there. Zachariah was a high-ranking angel too...I think they simply-"

"Don't care," Crowley finished.

Balthazar scowled. "I was going to say...that they simply don't have the time. I don't think Heaven is out of the game just yet. It might be that they're waiting."

"Waiting for Dean to kill Dante and Castiel and become Dominion so they can come in, sweep up the mess and claim the victory prize, more like," said Crowley.

"Heaven would not have the resources to destroy Dominion," said Castiel. "He would break again and the cycle would just continue with different fragments."

"Heaven can destroy it. They created it," Crowley countered.

"Until it was corrupted by Lucifer and he added his essence to it," said Balthazar. "They don't know how to handle Dominion. Which makes me wonder why Dean would want to do that. Yes, I suppose the appeal of ultimate power is there...but if he breaks again, he'll die. Permanently. Just like the first Dominion."

"Whatever happened to the first Dominion?" Crowley asked. "Guy comes by. Pisses Dean off. He breaks it. Somehow. And he vanishes."

"He's in all of us, Crowley," said Castiel.

"Sounds kinky...But seriously..Where's that damn Scripture? That thing had a memory inside of it. Maybe it can tell us," said Crowley. "He seemed to know a lot."

"He's dead. If Dean were to become Dominion, he would break inside of three other people and that would be it...He'd exist...probably as another memory like in the Scripture," said Castiel slowly.

"It's strange that Dean managed to break it, but he didn't know how to reassemble it all back into one," said Crowley. "Well..Now he does."

"Wait, what?" Balthazar locked eyes with him. "Dean knows how to become Dominion? How? Why did you tell him?"

"Uh...I was tortured. He put me on a machine to extract my memories and he got what he wanted. I don't know what he's planning on doing with that information but it doesn't sound like it's going to be pleasant," said Crowley.

"So you gave him the memory but you don't know what it is he took out," said Balthazar. "How do you do that? Do you know how he'll become Dominion?"

"No, there was a block in my mind that Dante prevented me from seeing," said Crowley, his face flushing with chagrin. "And it obviously snapped back in place."

"Great," said Balthazar, annoyed. "Now he knows. We're screwed. We're done."

"Dante knows the way too," said Castiel. "It's from his mind that Dean got the information..."

"So it's down to them. Honestly, that doesn't exactly uplift my spirits, Castiel. Dante takes Dean's fragments or Dean takes his, and one or the other comes after you. Either way, we're on a straight line to chaos," said Balthazar, running his hand through his hair. "I figured it was death. I figured there was no way to remove those fragments without killing any of you."

"Would that have made a difference?" Castiel scoffed. "It's Dante and Dean we're talking about. Who's the less of these two evils? No one. No one's worse than the other. Dante and Dean have a body count bigger than all of us combined."

"I suppose that makes you the saint of the group," said Crowley, casting him an irritated look, clearly insulted that his maker was spoken of in such a way.

"Of the three of us, I am the saint, Crowley. I'm not saying I'm innocent. I've killed too and I regret it immensely. But neither have them have ever felt regret. Even before. When Dean was partially restored in humanity. He didn't regret his actions," said Castiel. "They're ruthless. They're Dominion's worst parts."

"I suppose that no-regret policy is what made you fall for him," said Crowley mockingly.

Castiel flushed in some anger. "I loved Dean for the person he was. I'm beginning to accept that that person is dead and Lucifer made a vengeful ghost."

"I saw the last glimmer of his humanity when he entered my head," said Crowley, his face clear of amusement this time. "It was tiny. Very tiny...but it was there."

"If it's there, it can go back to what it was," said Balthazar. 'What about that curse? That mortality curse Dante used on him before. Why not use that? That should shut him down for a while."

Crowley waved a a dismissive hand. "Dean Winchester has over three thousand years worth of memories inside his mind. The last time he was cursed with mortality, Michael managed to spellweave those memories into a false life so that his mind could handle it. You turn him mortal again, he'll be worse than dead. He'll be a vegetable and...despite your claim that he's just a vengeful ghost to you, Castiel...I don't think you're prepared to live it down if Dean were to end up that way and you had a say in the matter," said Crowley. "We don't have Michael as a resource. If you want to keep Dean alive, then you got to think of something better. My opinion? Let's just kill him. He's caused more trouble than he has good. Let's face it, that's the truth."

"We're not killing him," said Castiel firmly. "Yes, I may believe he's become a shell of what he once was. But you said there's a tiny flicker. And Balthazar's right. If there's a flicker, it can be restored to what he needs to be what he was before. In Treachery...God, I swear I feel like the last time I truly saw Dean as he was meant to be, it was in Treachery...How sad is that. He became human...and then he became this."

"Yet the demon is right about one thing, Castiel. Michael's not a viable option. He could probably do whatever Gabriel did and restore part of Dean's humanity...but we don't have the power to infiltrate Heaven and free him from imprisonment," said Balthazar.

"I just wish I was enough," said Castiel, curling his fingers into a fist on the table. "I wish I was enough for Dean to turn back from this path. I wish...but I guess not. I guess it was never the way I thought it was. I've been living a lie, and believing in it, accepting it...and I refused to see the reality in front of me."

"You should have killed him when you used Heaven's Light," said Crowley.

"Don't blame yourself, Castiel. You could not have seen this coming," said Balthazar bracingly, reaching across the table to put his hand over Castiel's. "It's all right. We'll figure this out. We'll get him back."

"Every moment that passes...We keep heading towards the point of no return," said Castiel.

"This is irritating and disgusting. Where's Dante," said Crowley flatly, standing up. "I need to find my maker. I've had about enough of celestial love bonding to last me a lifetime."

The answer to his question was interrupted by a sharp spike in power that penetrated the currents in the air. The power was dark, that was for sure. No celestial could create something so profoundly sinister. Even Balthazar could sense it, despite his senses being down.

"That's...," Balthazar began.

"Dante," Crowley finished, pushing himself out of the booth they were in. "It's him. I can feel it. He's close by. I know where he is."

* * *

><p><strong>Paradise Rock- Slum Outskirts<strong>

* * *

><p>Father Bobby was exhausted. The memorial service for the dead was attended by very few. The Prefecture here had not yet been abandoned. Over the years, after the disease had shared its fill, the old stories that this was a ghostly prefecture was no longer valid. People were coming back, making their homes here. But it was still a small area. A tiny enclave. The nearest place was Paradise Rock which inhabited almost three times as many people. Mostly because of the legend surrounding it, that it was the site where angels fell many years ago.<p>

He was just finishing lighting the last candle at the front altar where the light focused on a single picture of Jesus Christ upon the cross centralized by several flowers and rosaries. Father Bobby sighed to himself, staring at the image of the savior for a long moment, lost in his own thought.

"Have time for a late entry?" A croaky sort of voice came from the entrance.

The priest looked around and found a dark shape near the doors. His surprised expression melted into warmth. "Of course. All are welcome in a house of the Lord."

The shadow edged closer, passing a few rows of seats. He walked with a strange limp like he was dragging one side of himself. Not a complete limp but like something very heavy was weighing down on his right side. There was a subtle dripping sound...and Father Bobby needed only to glance down to see the source. The man was bleeding from somewhere and it had created a trail behind him

"Come closer, my child. These old eyes don't work as well as they used to," said Father Bobby, taking a few steps closer himself.

He did as he was told, coming to a stop at the end of the last row. His face was considerably paler than it should have been, and there was almost no color at all to his lips. In fact, the only color that seemed apparent were the purple rings sagging underneath his dark eyes.

"Are you all right, child? Are you ill?" Father Bobby asked.

"I'm...I'm...I'm sick," said the shadow, taking a hold of the last seat ledge and leaning down. He began to cough. And it wasn't a simple one second sound. IT was hacking and long like something was trying to rip itself out of him.

"What's your name, boy?" Father Bobby came close, put his hand on his shoulder. Even with the layers of the dark clothing, his skin felt cold...rather than hot like he would expect.

He looked back up at him. "My name is Dante."

"Dante...That's not a very common name, isn't it? It's like the story..I used to read it to the children in the old days...,"

"Inferno. Yeah. I get that a lot," said Dante, leaning back down. "I heard there was a revised edition. Have you read it..?"

"I haven't heard anything like that. Listen, son, are you going to be all right?" Father Bobby asked.

"Probably not," Dante scoffed. "Heh...This wound...I have...this...affliction...it's something that doesn't heal...It just keeps burning...More and more."

"About a decade ago...," Father Bobby gently pulled Dante, leading him to sit in front of the altar with his back to the portrait. "There was a plague here...So few survivors...Only myself and a child survived. The day he was brought in...the plague stopped and I knew it was a miracle of God...that He still believed. Even in a small prefecture like this."

"Ever think that maybe your plague was caused by him...?" Dante asked mildly, his head rolling back.

Father Bobby took a seat in the seat that Dante was leaning against next to him. "No, I've never believed that. I witnessed the coming of an angel before you know. Saw it with my own eyes. There's nothing that could shatter my faith."

"Heh," Dante chuckled. "You're a rare individual, Father."

"I am...I suppose you could say I'm rare enough that I can even see when an injured angel walks into my church," said Father Bobby, looking down at him.

Dante didn't meet his gaze, but there was a pause before he next spoke. "I'm not an angel."

"Nonsense. You have wings...I can see them...You're a messenger of God...and I...am more thankful then I could ever be that you came here to me," said Father Bobby. "It's another sign...that He exists."

Dante let out a soft breath. "He...abandoned you...when you needed Him most. If you do not believe in Him, it's no sin, Father. Because He no longer loves you, as He no longer loves any."

"You believe that,"

"No...," Dante murmured. "I know that...I've seen it...My Father allowed my exile from Heaven for a crime that another committed. He allowed my Fall into a pit from which there was almost no escaping the torment of my own despair. He...allowed that...And He allowed so much pain. War upon the object of his true love."

"You," Dante finished, looking up at the priest dead in the eyes. "I do not have faith. Neither should you."

"Dante...Listen to me. God has a plan for all of us. You are no exception to that...Whatever punishment you think was bestowed upon you may have only been a simple test...a test that is even going now. "

"...Maybe...I guess I'll never know...," Dante whispered, closing his eyes. "Would you mind...Father...Would you mind reading to me...? You say you read Inferno to children...I suppose to inspire belief. Perhaps you could read me your copy."

Father Bobby smiled at him, eyes twinkling. "Of course, Dante. I can read to you. Stay right there."

He seemed so pleased that Dante didn't move an inch as the Priest left him to retreat into one of the back rooms and bring out a thick leather-bound book to him. He sat back down next to Dante and opened the book to a random page.

"This books brings you comfort?" Father Bobby asked him gently.

"The revised editions...," Dante's voice was slow and almost slurred as though he was drunk. So many visitations to bar, and the alcohol had absolutely no effect on his system whatsoever. This was his own weakness and growing inability to speak properly. He was seeing a haze of black ring around his vision each time he opened his eyes. "...is different...They say Beatrice, Dante's lover was dragged into Hell..so his journey was centered around getting her back...rather than joining her in Heaven."

"That's a strange change...Drastic one too...Almost provides motive," said Father Bobby thoughtfully.

"A bigger motive, yes...," Dante murmured. "People do strange things when under the throes of love...They'd do anything. Perhaps that's why I like the story so much. Hmm."

"Were you ever in love, Dante?" Father Bobby asked tentatively, peering down at his expression.

In answer, Dante closed his eyes for longer than necessary, inhaling deep and letting out a soft breath. When next he opened his eyes, a single tear coursed down his cheek.

"I'm sorry...That was a personal question," said Father Bobby. "Love is pure, though, Dante. You need not call yourself Fallen when you're invested in something as beautiful as love."

Dante made it very apparent that he wasn't going to answer. His eyes were closed again.

The priest looked back down at the book and read the text.

"_Quivi sospiri, pianti e alti guai_  
>risonavan per l'aere sanza stelle,<br>per ch'io al cominciar ne lagrimai.  
>Diverse lingue, orribili favelle,<br>parole di dolore, accenti d'ira,  
>voci alte e fioche, e suon di man con elle<br>facevano un tumolto, il qual s'aggira  
>sempre in quell'aura sanza tempo tinta,<br>come la rena quando turbo spira.'

("_Their sighs, lamentations and loud wailings_  
><em>resounded through the starless air,<em>  
><em>so that at first it made me weep;<em>  
><em>Strange utterances, horrible pronouncements,<em>  
><em>words of pain, tones of anger,<em>  
><em>voices shrill and faint, and beating hands,<em>  
><em>all went to make a tumult that will whirl<em>  
><em>forever through that turbid, timeless air,<em>  
><em>like sand that eddies when a whirlwind swirls.<em>")

"_Fuit et dolore ignis. Quae ergo ego vidi. Quae ergo ego nesciebam._"(There was fire and pain. It's all I saw. All that I knew.) said Dante out loud. "Do you believe in redemption, Father?"

"Of course I do," said the priest. "Of course. I believe that any crime is forgivable in the eyes of God as long as one truly repents for his or her sin."

"I'm glad you think so," said Dante in a breathy voice.

"Would you like to pray with me, Dante?" The priest offered, taking his hand. "Do you know how?"

"It's been a while," said Dante quietly.

"That's okay...It's never too late to say a prayer," said Father Bobby. "Come on. Turn around. Look upon the face."

It was with a struggle that Dante managed to turn his body over, his knees nearly collapsing underneath him as he tried to kneel. He felt more of the wetness from his growing wound. It was no longer just in his wing. That had been tearing off, the infection or whatever it was had entered his body and he could feel where the skin was peeling off underneath his shirt near his ribcage on his right side.

It would not be long now.

Father Bobby got on his knees next to him, his form taller and much more strong.

Strange...to be next to a member of the clergy of all beings. About to pray.

He let out a long sigh and pressed his palms together, the fingers touching his lips from the sides.

And then the candles went out.

Heat filled the room and Dante felt his wound sting up his whole right side like it had been burned. Dante winced, shutting his eyes and allowing the darkness to take him as he slumped on the altar and started to turn around. The pain from the wound in his wing and ribs was excruciating. It felt like the bones were stretching to the max capability and threatening to rip through skin.

Dante winced and buckled holding himself. He breathed hard. Where did that come from?

The stained glass windows that Dante took no notice of before began to glow. Starting with Michael and Gabriel on either side of him and then the rest of them. That glow...orange, almost golden...

Anything to stop the pain...He put his hand in his inner jacket pocket and drew out a pack of cigarettes, pulling one out with his teeth and twiddling a lighter between two fingers as he prepared to light it. He flicked once, twice, only getting a spark both times.

Then the fire appeared, a tiny flame that lit the end of the cigarette in his mouth. Dante raised his eyes level to the face that was inches away from his own.

"Dante," said Dean.

"Dean," Dante smiled, pulling the cigarette away and leaning back, inhaling deep as he blew out a cloud of smoke.

The candles lit the moment Dante spoke his name, burning a foot high. The priest had stood now, looking down where Dean was in front of Dante.

"You...You don't belong here. I know you...You...Your kind is-"

"Goodbye," said Dean in a tone echoing finality.

The priest's screams were loud as his entire body was suddenly covered in third degree burns, the flesh beginning to sizzle and form red and yellow bubbles before those bubbles grew large. The only visible ones on his face. He screamed and screamed until Dean raised a hand.

_Snap._

**Pop.**

Like a balloon. Blood splashed the two of them, organ and blood splashing the entire altar, desecrating it in a sick shade of crimson and bloody meat.

Dean kept his gaze on Dante the entire time, taking a hold of Dante's cheek, shaping his palm there. His face was so full of sadness that it was strange while the rays from Michael's own stained glass window made a shape that lined on his veined neck. It was a perverse depiction he was looking at. It made him feel like he was looking at the worst shade of Michael. That's how much they looked alike. And how strange it was. Michael in all his benevolence...and Dean in...whatever the hell he had.

"Long time," said Dean.

"Not long enough," said Dante stoically. He too, had barely flinched when Dean 'took care' of the priest. It didn't phase him in the slightest. Dante had very little energy left to even make an expression. But he mustered what he could for one question. "How did you find me?"

"I have my sources. You really didn't think you could hide forever, did you?" Dean pinched his cheek very lightly.

"I wasn't hiding from you," said Dante.

"In a church of all places," Dean ignored the statement. "I'm disappointed in you, Dante."

"So are a lot of other people when they stand next to me and try to compare themselves," Dante replied smoothly. "Look at you, widdle Dean...all grown up and able to pass through hallowed ground. It must be nice when you're one of the _last_ demons in existence."

Dean chuckled in fondness, tapping Dante's cheek once. "Still got that sense of humor. I'm glad, Dante. I would hate for you to die without some form of dignity."

"Hehehe...," It hurt to laugh. He choked on it, tasting the nasty acrid taste of the tobacco he had just inhaled. He threw that cigarette out behind Dean, watching it feebly hit one of the armrests and roll on the floor. "Ah, there it is. Why don't you come out here, Virgil? Step up. Don't be shy. Claim your prize."

The mass of black near the entrance shifted and Virgil came forward, the light from the candle illuminating his front.

"Hello Dante," Virgil eyed him up and down. "Nice look. Not your best, though."

"Oh, _fuck_ you. You should be dead. And fuck you, Dean," Dante snapped. He swiveled to look at Dean only. "If you're here to make an attempt on my life for your own satisfaction, then get on with it, boy. Do your worst...I sure as hell have done mine."

"It's nothing personal, Dante. I just want something you have," Dean traced a line down Dante's neck to his chest where he stopped just above the heart. "Right here...Your demon was _very_ cooperative in what he gave me, Dante...It's only fair that I come through. A simple curse...and you and I become _lifelong _partners."

"I smell decay...I'm not the only one about to die, am I?" Dante leaned closed and sniffed. "Mm..Smells like someone took a bite out of the wrong plant."

"It doesn't matter. I've won. When I dispense of Havoc inside of you...I can heal myself,"

"You keep on thinking that, buttercup. I like your positive thinking," said Dante.

"Enough," Dean growled. "You're dead. Say goodnight, Shadowalker."

They locked eyes and Dean was just about to plunge his hand through the Shadowalker's body, his mouth open for the curse that needed to be said. But Dante's hand was quicker, up and caught around Dean's wrist, just inches away from where it was intended to be. Dean fought the hold, his eyebrows furrowing in concentration.

"I just want you to know, Dean. I extended you a courtesy...by not killing you and your boyfriend. I should have...and now I probably will," Dante's grip tightened on Dean to the point of nearly cracking his bones. "I was going to leave you alone. I was well within my grounds to kill you, you see. After everything happened to me. But you see, I learned to let it go. Unlike you. You. Whiny. Arrogant. Fucking. Child."

"What are you doing," Dean hissed, struggling against the hold.

"I want you to remember this moment. The moment where you lost...everything," said Dante slowly. And he pushed him. It wasn't a simple shove. Dean went flying away from him, sliding across the floor all the way to Virgil's feet at the entrance to the church.

And Dante stood up, slowly, black wings extending. The wound that had been there, slowly tearing off. It was visible, and yet even as Dean watched, the bone structure began to realign, feathers slowly appearing from nowhere, connecting skin together and leaving only droplets of blood where they reattached. At the same time, the puddle that had been Father Bobby changed...the broken body parts melting into what looked like black liquid in the dim lighting beginning to reform, a shape beginning to rise from it.

"Fun factoid for you...," Dante drew out his sword from his back, inspecting it as though he was checking the weight of it in his palm. "A day and a half I spent...silently praying. It's amazing, the power of prayer they say. Before you two get all judgey, I wasn't praying to God like the priest was. It seems that an Archangel _can_ answer prayers even from the confines of a heavenly prison."

Dante raised his eyes and met Dean's. "And your Father _owed_ me."

"Michael...How...?" Was all Dean could say.

"I don't know. I don't feel inclined on asking him either," said Dante. The black shape took the form of ...Bobby except it wasn't him. It was a shadow, transparent, hunched over in a crouch with glowing white eyes. "But he's well on his way to working his way back in my good spirits. It's hard to be in my good spirits. Gotta hand it to him. All I asked for was the means to defeat his tantrum-throwing brat of a son...and look what happened. Looks like Daddy's picked his side in the conflict."

Dean pulled himself to his feet and pulled out his own sword, crouching low as well.

Virgil caught his arm and yanked him back a few inches, his voice a low hiss. "You cannot defeat him at full power, Your Majesty. It's suicide. His power is greater than yours."

"Shut up," Dean snapped, wrenching himself free. "This changes _nothing_. Go outside. His fan club is on their way. Stall them. I'll take care of this. Dante's just the warm-up round. I can handle it. Go. "

"Your Majesty-"

"NOW! That's an order!" Dean shouted with enough force to shake the ground, turning his head in Virgil's direction behind him.

The Fallen pursed his lips, took one glance at Dante then at Dante before he did as he was told, heading straight for the doors and disappearing outside of them.

"Fragile alliances are made in war, it seems," Dante commented, eyes on Virgil's retreating form. "Working with Virgil Blackburn, Dean. Tsk. I'm sure he's given you his spiel on why _he_ thinks I should die. He's the worst kind of Fallen there is, Dean Winchester. He has no aims but his own and this loyalty he displays to you is another of his charades. You're a means to an end to him. He isn't truly yours."

"I don't care," Dean growled. "You're _dead_, Shadowalker. I will keep to the promise I made this realm...whether Michael is siding with you in his heavenly pisshole or not. One human city, every hour. But this time, you'll be right here..." Dean placed his free hand over his chest. "watching all the way."

"At least you're reserving me for a front row seat. Can't ask for a better deal than that," said Dante, flashing a gleaming smile. "You really didn't think it would be that easy, did you? Strolling in here...Nothing in life ever is. It's like you barely know me at all. Did you honestly think I would go down without a fight?"

"Only one of us is leaving this place alive, Dante," said Dean.

"By all means, _Your Majesty,_ Dante answered, giving him a sweeping bow, his head ducked low as he kept that mocking grin plastered on his face.


	14. Havoc vs Law

"It's kind of ironic to find you here, Dante," said Dean, stepping to make a circle around the Fallen while Dante did the exact same thing, taking to the opposite direction. "Here of all places. This slum is where it all started."

"It started in the basement of that manor," Dante spat back. "Or have you forgotten?"

"I have not forgotten," said Dean quietly. "But that's one version."

"There is only one version, Dean. The one where you broke Dominion and made all this happen. I'm sick and tired of playing 'blame-game' with you people. _I _didn't break Dominion. _You_ did. You broke him. You started a cascade of events that put several thousand lives in jeopardy. Millions, if you want to be technical, but I'm feeling nice today," said Dante.

Dean stopped directly in the altar now where Dante had just been. The shadowcrawler that Dante had made out of Father Bobby remained behind him, stoic and still, not yet attacking. "...I'm not blaming you for anything, Dante. Blaming you was a ruse to get Castiel to cooperate with me, see things my way. You and I ...are not so naive."

Dante smiled at him without humor. "If you're drawing similarities between you and me..."

"We are alike, despite what we were created for. Opposite in power, but alike in so many other ways," said Dean. "For example, there's no need for pretense here, Dante. You kill as easily as you breathe and so do I. You and I have never stopped any mission just because lives would be lost in the process. I inherited that way of thinking, you could say, from my Father."

"Lucifer was selfish swine. I wouldn't be proud of yourself," said Dante scathingly. "I would know. I met him. Virgil and I were as thick as thieves in the past. But we were some of the few Fallen who did _not_ swear allegiance to the crown. Lucifer was aware of the fact, but he never held us in high regard for it."

"Not proud. Just stating fact," said Dean. "He _was_ selfish. He cared only for himself and securing his place-"

"Not true," Dante interjected. "He also favored _you_ quite highly. He did love you, despite what you may believe. Our allegiance was not important to him, but yours was. He would have done anything and everything to persuade you to think his way. He'd be proud of you right now, Dean. For all you've done. Again, though...Not really something _you _should be proud of."

"My dear Dante...It almost sounds like you've renounced your old ways. Has Balthazar been influencing you? Guiding you back to the celestial path? That's so sweet, said Dean mockingly, clasping his hands together.

Dante pressed his lips together tightly. "No. I haven't renounced anything. But I can believe this world would be better subject to nothing than be subject to you."

"I think you're biased based on the fact that I'm trying to kill you," said Dean. "What gives, Dante. You made our lives miserable in Treachery and now you want to stop? Leave us alone? Am I really supposed to believe you wouldn't do what I'm doing if given the chance?"

"A thirst for vengeance can only go so far before it becomes tiresome, Your Majesty. You should heed that advice," Dante answered him quietly.

"Are you tired, Dante?" Dean took a step towards him, and at the same time, so did the shadowcrawler. Dean didn't know if it had an independent thought inside its brain, but it seemed to have an instinct to protect Shadowalker. Despite that, Dean had killed many of these creatures before. And one made no difference to him, whether it was someone he knew once before or not.

"Aren't you?" Dante scoffed. "Aren't you tired of fighting? Aren't you tired of...all this?"

Dean came closer and raised a hand to grip Dante's chin. "No. I'm just getting started."

Dante didn't shake off the grip, but he never looked away from Dean's eyes. "It doesn't have to end like this, Dean."

"Don't get emotional, Dante," said Dean, smiling, raising his sword level to his face. "You mean nothing to me. Any last words I should keep in mind for your eulogy?"

"Maybe at another time...I don't think you're ready to hear what I have to say," said Dante.

"Good, because I didn't care much for your last words anyway. I was just being polite,"

Dante shoved him hard on the chest and Dean backed away chuckling.

But the smile on Dean's face was soon gone as he began to concentrate. It didn't show physically unless you were really looking for the signs. His eyes were dead on Dante's, eyes intent and focused. Fire began to spread from his body, burning the church benches, seeping under the walls beneath the stained glass. The heat was unbearable. Almost ten times as hot as the fire that humans did. This, however was tainted by Will. The same fire that fanned the flames of Hell surrounding Dean like a cocoon. He raised his head a few inches until it started to radiate from his form, and his eyes blazed the same color, his hair seeming to dissolve into it as well, until he looked like that, like a fiery soul.

Dante remained standing, just watching him. The roar of the fire deafened all the other sounds. Dean was right before, when he said it. Fire didn't die. It consumed. And that was the presence that Dean had. It was not just Law. It was Dean himself. it was the King of Hell. He simply looked at the shadowcrawler behind Dean and the creature moved, crawling on the wall behind himself for balance before he leaped off, jumping straight towards Dean's unsuspecting back.

The demon turned, but not in time, to find the shadowcrawler atop him. The flames did not die, nor did the power surge, but he was distracted. Frantically, the crawler began to grab Dean's face with semi-invisible hands. He dodged and weaved its attempts until it got a hold of him. He managed to draw from the fire spell he had already created and use it to purge the shadowcrawler on top of him. It screeched and flailed, rolling off him while it was set ablaze.

"Amateur," said Dean, struggling to his feet and letting the black ooze settle on the ground where he had thrown Father Bobby. "Is that the best you have? Letting your servants do you dirty work for you?! COWARD."

"You should talk," said Dante from the entrance. " I was just using reverse tactics, Your Majesty. Don't take it personal."

"Reverse tac...," Dean broke off in a growl. The gathered flames concentrated into a single stream of fire shooting straight for Dante.

The latter didn't move, instead he conjured a barrier that was held an inch from his own skin like a black bubble that Dante conjured out of his own power. It was much smaller than Dean's show of power, which came as no surprise when he was pushed towards the entrance doors. But he was successful in one thing...he could feel the heat from the fire Dean produced as if it was already inside him. And yet none of it was actually touching him. He was holding Dean off, if only just.

He struggled under the spell. It wasn't going to be long before it completely engulfed him. Already some of the flames were coming closer and he realized too late that it was because Dean himself was stepping closer. With each push his power was giving, the closer he was coming.

Dante faltered onto one knee just as Dean was standing over him. Close enough to address. His eyes found Dean's over the fire. "You're good, Dean. You always had a talent for this."

"Just give in, Dante. You'll make life easier on all of us,"said Dean.

Dante ground his teeth together and struggled against the spell as best he could. He felt a tiny stream of fire sear across his cheek. The quick-hot pain would have been enough to throw the barrier off, but he held fast, just as Dean took a few steps closer.

"Yeah, you're good...but I'm still better," said Dante, emphasizing the words with a sing-song intonation at the end.

He released the barrier, which might have been the biggest mistake of his life, pulling out his sword in the next second. For one terrifying second, he felt searing pain across his right side, where fire touched too openly on wounds that were fresh and more apparent less than an hour ago. The ghost of that pain was still there. He managed enough strength to raise his sword and catch the flames with his blade. The fire seared all the way down his blade, straight to the ground below.

* * *

><p>"It came from the church!" Crowley was leading them up ahead with great speed. Yet still, Balthazar and Castiel couldn't help but scowl. It'd be much faster to fly. It wasn't their fault that the demon was incapable of that.<p>

"This place," said Castiel slowly.

"What?" Balthazar looked over.

"I've been here before. Wait. Stop. Stop," said Castiel, loud enough for Crowley to catch it as well, stopping dead in his tracks as he looked around. They were very near the church now, feet away from the entrance gates. "It looks a bit different...More cars...but there's some...mist here...I've been here before. This is where..."

_This is where I met Dean._

"I tracked Dean for the first time all the way here from the S prefecture long ago. It was where I first...or where I first..._thought _I met him," said Castiel.

"Paradise Rock. These are the slums," said Balthazar. "You never told me that."

"You never asked," Castiel answered. "It's strange...to be back here...Like I'm getting a sense of deja vu. This was the same church too...The demons brought Sam here for the first time when they were being chased by another renegade demon. Back then, there was a magic barrier over the whole place...that I think Sam placed on it."

"Sam?" Balthazar pressed.

"Vessel," said Crowley. "He'd have that kind of power. Does it matter now? Can we keep going? Dante's just ahead. I can feel him...and I can feel your boyfriend too. If we don't get there in time, then-"

"What? What will you do?" said a voice from above them. He came from out of nowhere, but when he descended before them, it was clear as day.

Virgil. He landed lightly on his feet, eyes hovering each of them with apparent disinterest. Though he stopped right on Balthazar.

"Oh, look who it is," said Virgil. "Balthazar, Balthazar, Balthazar. So good to see you again."_  
><em>

"Virgil," Balthazar snarled under his breath.

"Who?" Castiel asked.

"It's a Fallen," said Balthazar.

"Oh, right..Virgil...," said Crowley in a mild voice. "Aren't you dead?"

"You'd like that, wouldn't you, _Doctor McLeod_?" Virgil answered. "I'm surprised you've managed to survive this long, Crowley. Still hanging on Dante's coattails, I see."

"Get. Out. Of the way, Fallen," Castiel snapped. "We don't have time for this."

"Oh, I forgot. You two are not as morally encompassed as the rest of Heaven," said Virgil. "You two..are renegade. Your faith has been shaken but Heaven grants you its power. Tell me, though. What use is all that power to be forsaken by the Host itself?"

"We don't need the damn host," Castiel growled. "Get out of the way."

"You're a fiesty one, Retribution," Virgil remarked. "I didn't get the pleasure of knowing just how much of a spark plug you are. No pun intended."

"How do you...," Castiel shook his head. "Never mind. I don't care. Let us through, or die here. Your choice."

"You're that confident you can kill me?" Virgil asked, holding out his fists so that two blades burst out from under his sleeves the length of a normal sword.

In turn, Castiel pulled his own sword out from his waist. "I've spent time as a Fallen. I know how it is. I know how it feels. I know the gratification everyone gets after every kill. It's a beautiful feeling. But it's also false comfort."

"Being a Celestial is a good comfort is what you're saying, then?" Virgil smiled. "You're a fragment, Castiel. I can't kill you even if I wanted to. You're an essential part of a balanced breakfast."

"Stay back, Castiel," said Balthazar. "Go on ahead. Get Dante out of there. I'll take care of this."

"Balthazar-" Castiel began to protest.

"Sorry kiddo, but this is personal now," said Balthazar with a small smile as he stood in front of Castiel. "He may not have caused all of this, but he played his part."

"Yes, I played my part. Just like the three of you are doing. You're all just...playing your part," said Virgil.

Before anyone could respond to him, there was a loud sound and the crucifix at the head of the church began to smoke. Crowley stepped forward, his jaw dropping. "Smoke on the cross. That's not good."

"Looks like they're having a gay old time in the-" Virgil began but he broke off. The entrance doors burst open and a flash of golden light blinded them all. It was the last thing they saw before the entire church was engulfed in the same light. Not light. Not really. It was flames that shot upwards in a ring of fire until the building seemed to cave in on itself and collapse, consumed inside of a fiery maelstrom forming at the bottom of a massive crater that had formed from the explosion.

Castiel, Crowley and Balthazar were all thrown backwards from the force of the blast, off their feet and sinking into the pavement in all different directions. The explosion had broken several parts of the cement, debris and smoking wood was strewn everywhere.

Balthazar was the first to try to stand. He coughed as he breathed in a lungful of air. "Everyone...accounted for? Crowley...? Castiel..? Are you... all right?"

He heard Castiel's assurance closer and Crowley from below him, nearer to the ruin. he didn't see Virgil or hear him anywhere and he didn't care. He hoped a jagged piece of wood was lodged in the Fallen's stomach or something.

"Why is it...that every time...your...boyfriend...goes somewhere...That place is...doomed...to blow?" Balthazar said between coughs.

"I don't know," Castiel hacked a little bit too, crawling towards Balthazar. "Maybe you should ask him. Where are they?"

Dante emerged from the wreckage first. But from this distance, he looked almost like a speck. Wings extended from his back and he took off like a huge black crow. He didn't remain airborne alone for long. A few seconds passed and another speck followed him, this one with no wings whatsoever.

Dean.

"Damn it!" Castiel jumped up. "Wasting time. Balthazar, stay here! I'll take care of this!"

"Castiel! Wait!' Balthazar called after him, reaching his hand out. But Castiel had already taken off after the other two. "Damn it. The three of them...in one place...Nothing good...I hope Castiel can stop it."

* * *

><p><strong>Heaven - Prison Cell<strong>

* * *

><p>Michael was through waiting. It felt like years...the damn time difference in this place to the mortal realm or Hell was vastly different. Perhaps he had become too accustomed to the place where age mattered and eternity didn't. It would have been barely any time at all down below when it was much longer where he was. Sitting here, sulking in this cell.<p>

He didn't know what to expect. He didn't know what was coming. What Metatron planned and where she had been was anyone's idea. He didn't know what was going on down below, but it couldn't have been anything good. He yearned to know. The urge to simply break out just to see the Truth Mirror. He wanted to see for himself what was happening with Dean...It wasn't anything good. The state of the world must have been in chaos...and his son needed him now more than ever.

They never were on good terms. No one could ever attest to that. Even while Dean was human under Michael's false 'life' he had created for him through his memories. He still rebelled against him, still went against his wishes and wanted nothing more than to be free. The humans would term that as a free spirit...and Dean defined that more than anyone Michael had ever known. His mother was almost the same way, though exercising some degree of control over different aspects of her life. With no humanity inside of him...Dean's "free-spirit" would wreck more mayhem than Dante ever could, that was for sure.

But that didn't stop Dean from being his son, no matter what he had become now. He needed to get out of here. He needed to find his son.

What Michael kept inside of him was not easy. Even now, he could feel the ache and desire to depart from this realm increase tenfold.

If execution was his sentence, then he'd rather get the sentence over with. Metatron usually didn't like drawing out anything. She had always been direct and to the point. Whatever information she was recovering from the Scripture must have been important. He'd know if she would leave. He'd feel it. As disconnected he was from Heaven as a whole, even while being in it, he still had some sense. And he would surely sense a massive presence like Metatron leave the realm. Not to mention, she probably wouldn't forego the chance to gloat at least once more to him. Direct...but still a bitch.

Right on cue, he heard the dungeon doors open from the top and he stood upright, approaching the cell bars.

There stood Metatron across from his cell.

"Michael. Michael. Michael," Metatron mused in a voice that sounded like he had done something very naughty. She put her hands on her hips and eyed him in an exasperated sort of way. "What am I to do with you, Michael?"

"The chain of command has faltered indeed if my fate is left in your hands," said Michael.

"You hold me in such low confidence. If it had been Raphael or even Gabriel, you may as well have been executed," said Metatron.

"You obviously failed to get to know Gabriel very well," Michael noted.

"Maybe. That's not to say he didn't have his own moments that would have brought pride to the legion. You, however...Your crimes are grand in nature. What you've done can't be repeated," said Metatron.

"What I've done is in the past...and I do believe I managed the legion very well when I returned to Heaven. With a soul or not," Michael countered.

Metatron sneered. "You call this situation a job well done? I didn't blame your soul, Michael. I blamed you. I blamed you for allowing a monster like Dean Winchester be born from you. I blame you for not doing a single thing while Dominion was being broken...and lastly, I blame you for lying. You had us all under the belief that Father had not abandoned us and we were acting under His orders. That could not be further from the truth, could it? God has abandoned us to this fate. And it is up to us now to fix it...so that He may return."

"Father left us before all this began. Has it occurred to you that He lost faith in us on principle? Heaven is not the best candidate for righteous means. I am a farcry from what I should be...Raphael was too. These are all examples of the corruption that's taken root in Heaven, Metatron," said Michael, shaking his head. "I was wrong...I was wrong for what happened with Lucifer. It was my attitude that drove him from this plane...it was not his belief. What we're doing here...our methods...they're wrong."

"Blasphemy, Michael," said Metatron. "These methods have been constituted since before your existence. You have no right to question them, regardless of who you once were."

"I'm still Michael. I believe in this realm. I want Father to believe in us the same way that I do," said Michael quietly.

"You are hardly a saint...so your belief means very little to any of the legion, Michael," said Metatron, looking him square in the eyes.

"My son-"

"Is about to destroy the mortal realm, Michael. I hope you're proud of him," said Metatron. "I hope you still find him...worth it."

"Did you come here to mock me, Metatron or did you come here to finally kill me? If either, please get on with it. I don't have time for either," said Michael irritably.

"What exactly do you have time for in a prison?" Metatron questioned, leaning close. "I've spent a lot of time in isolation with the Scripture, Michael. I've learned a few things. I've learned...the truth...on a lot of things too."

"Did you," Michael replied mildly.

"Yes...Are you so surprised?" Metatron raised her shoulders in a slight shrug. "The Scripture is almost completely powerless. All it contains now is the memory of the sentient being known as Dominion. He did not wish to speak to me, needless to say...but he did inform me of a way to get out of this current...predicament."

"I'm surprised. I would think self-preservation is first on Dominion's list," said Michael.

"This Dominion is dead, and you know it. He died when he broke," said Metatron impatiently. "This is a memory. He knows the catastrophic power that he once held...and yes, he wishes to make amends for it."

"You sound like a mother trying to justify a child's actions," said Michael. "Dominion was made from deceit and hatred the moment Lucifer laid a hand on him. He feels no such regret."

"I wouldn't expect you to understand regret, Michael, since you have none," said Metatron pointedly. "Regardless. He told me of the way to dispense the problem, as I was saying. The simplest method is through you, Michael."

Michael's jaw tightened. "Is that what you heard."

"Your sword, more specifically. You always taught me that the blades we make are unique...They can be used by another, but it simply would not be the same. They're augmented after all according to our own Will. Yours...More so...After all, your weapon was the first sword augmented by Will since the creation of time. Yours...is so infused by you, that any other who wields it...wields Michael, so to say," said Metatron. "And that sword infused by you...is so powerful, it can destroy anything. Completely and utterly. Not kill. Any sword can kill. Yours destroys. And to destroy is different. Your weapon...can very easily destroy these three fragments we have on our hands."

"You honestly think you can get close enough to any of them, best them, and use my sword?" Michael asked. "Really now. I hope you have a better plan than that."

"I have every confidence in my own ability to best any of them, Michael. None of them have learned what I learned," said Metatron coolly.

"You underestimate them. Seriously," said Michael.

"I don't have time to chat with you about this. I'm going to do what I intend, one way or another. And you're going to do as I say, Michael," said Metatron, tilting her head just slightly. "There's no sense in killing you...yet."

She pulled on the cell bars until they seemed to melt in her grip and become nothing more than vanishing matter in her hands and the way was clear.

"Now...Step out and give me your weapon, Michael," said Metatron, stepping back and holding out her hand to him.

Michael looked at her for a long time, then he stepped forward as she told him to. He was still wearing those civilian clothes, yet here in Heaven, he could not hide the weapon from mortals because there was no need. The golden sword was still strapped to his waist.

Metatron eyed him up and down and shook her head in disapproval. "How you could mingle with humankind for so long and not go insane yourself. I've understood the concept. We protect them, and they are oblivious to us except for what they read. But you...You actually became one. I wasn't blaming your soul, Michael...but only something like a soul could make an Archangel crow like a human."

In response, Michael stepped right in her face. "You're too trusting, General. I don't think I have to remind you that I taught you better than that, do I?"

"What-" Metatron began.

Michael shoved her, elbowed her right in the face, clipping her jaw and sending her flying into the cell. She screamed in rage, rubbing the purple spot that was beginning to blossom on her cheek as she rushed the cell bars that began to appear with a wave of Michael's hand.

"I learned a few tricks in the mortal realm," said Michael, actually taking out his sword and twirling it around in front of her. "I'm fairly confident you can break out of there, Metatron. As you said yourself...You know things that the others don't...You spent enough time honing your skill...But you know, Metatron.."

Michael lowered his head a little so they were of level height. "You missed out on much. I take responsibility for some of it...because I trained you myself. But...you are the definition of how demons view us. They view us as spineless, robotic creations meant only to mindlessly follow orders without a thought of our own. In a way...they're not wrong. We don't function without orders. And without our Father or a leader that can truly lead us with the best interests of Heaven in mind, we are lost."

"Let me out of here, Michael," said Metatron, rattling the bars of the cage. "Let me out, NOW!"

Michael took a step back and pulled his sword out and held it level with her face. "Don't do anything brave."

"Let me out of here," said Metatron venomously. Her eyes slid down on him where she spotted a strange symbol on the inside of his wrist. She squinted at it and the symbol became apparently clear in her mind. "Is that...? Michael, you didn't."

Michael rolled up the sleeve but the symbol merely glowed in the darkness of his sleeve. He then gave her a quick quirk of his eyebrow before he turned away and ran for the stairs leading up. In the span of ten seconds that it took him to reach the top, his civilian clothing vanished altogether, reforming golden armor with a flowing cape that would have held his wings. But he did not hold them, not here.

There was no one there when he emerged. He preferred it that way. He took off, heading high into the sky and looking down at the realm as a whole. It was such a relief to be free, but he didn't have time. He knew where the gates of Heaven were. It was here where he had left before voluntarily to stop Lucifer from damaging or changing the Scripture after he had taken it...and it was here where Lucifer...Dante...and so many others had Fallen.

He couldn't linger on that either. Instead, Michael shot straight for the gates, flying past the gardens, the generated heavens of souls that became nothing more than blurs to him. He was off at speed beyond any other celestial. And when he stopped, he landed neatly on his feet in front of the gate.

The pearly gates were closed to him, preventing his departure. This _never_ happened. Heaven was almost always open access to the souls that belonged here...that could only mean that Metatron had closed it off...closed off even the righteous from entering Heaven...and he could only guess that the numbers were in the millions after what was rumored to have happened in Chicago.

How could Metatron do that? How could she ever get it into her twisted mind that that was okay?

Michael made his way closer to the gate, and then he felt something tingle at the back of his head. It was a familiar sensation. The sensation traveled all the way to his ears and heard the prayer break out in his mind like a song from the past.

"_So I don't ask for much. And you haven't been answering me thus far, because you're an asshole and I'm not surprised. But I got a request for you. Your son. You know that apple of your eye, sunshine of your life, good old boy of yours? Yeah, he's really being kind of a dick lately. I know, so surprising, right? So can you do me a huge favor, Michael? And just grant me one wish. I don't ask for much, and you...you kind of me owe me y'know? For...all that business back in the day. So my wish...getting back to the point here...my prayer. My prayer to you, 'Saint' Michael, is this. My power has been severely weakened, in no small part due to Dean Winchester. If you want a planet to come back down to from your prison, I_ _**suggest **__you do the right thing for once in your life...and heal me of the affliction that's draining my life. _

_Make no mistake, Saint Michael. I am not your servant and I swear no fealty to Heaven or you...nor will I ever do so again. But between the two of us, you'd be better of banking on the one that will at least allow the rest of you guys to live after I'm done. _

_I don't want a planet, you see. I don't have some sick, twisted notion like him that the world is wrong and I need to take it upon myself to rebuild it. I don't have the God-complex, but it looks like he does. Looks like he's taking after Daddy just nicely._

_So do me the favor. I won't ask you for anything else. Think of it as a surefire way to begin your road to forgiveness. I think that's fair."_

Michael dropped his hand after the prayer was finished. He deliberated for a moment. Checking behind him, he felt more than he saw Metatron on approach. The gates opened with a wave of his hand. And he pressed his palm to his lips, kissing gently and releasing a glowing white orb that twinkled in his hand. He released it the next second, letting it hover in front of him.

"All right, Dante," said Michael. The orb flew past the gates, down to the mortal plane below just as Michael turned.

"Stop where you are!" It was not Metatron's voice. Though she was there, standing among five other angels including Gadreel, her right-hand man. "Archangel Michael, you stand accused of treason and conspiracy. You are not permitted to leave this realm."

"Ask your General why she wants to keep me here before you speak of the law here," said Michael coolly, eyes on Metatron. "You will not control my actions. My actions are my own. As they always have been. My choice."

"Stop him," Metatron snarled. "He possesses a so-"

"I'm going. I've made my decision. If you wish to stop me, that's yours. I'm not fighting any of you," said Michael to the group as a whole. He stepped backwards cautiously, keeping his gaze locked on each one of them. The moment Michael cleared the gate, he felt the cloudy ground disappear underneath him. He raised his hands up eaglewidth, extending his wings to their full wingspan and allowed himself to fall below to the mortal plane.

Gadreel made to follow but Metatron raised a hand to his chest. "Don't. Let him. We'll get what we need from him soon enough. For now...Let's just wait and see. This should be interesting."

* * *

><p>Dean lost his patience quick. He caught up to Dante easily. Dante had taken him past the mountains, past forests and into the nearby city. Paradise Rock was a very large region, and Dean had been here before, familiarized himself with it. But when Dante showed the slightest inch, he clashed into him on the next Jump and sent the two of them flying towards towering skyscraper.<p>

The two of them fell through the ceiling, down four floors into the middle of an office campus. The workers jumped at the sight of them, as they landed on opposite ends of it when Dean lost grip of the Fallen.

Blood dripped down Dean's face from various cuts across his cheeks and forehead from the shatter of glass during the fall. It felt like his spine had been cracked in two. He felt his own heated blood wrap around the area and fuse all of his broken bones back together. His appearance was haggard and disgusting and he didn't have the concentration to close every wound sustained. The roots of his hair looked like they had been stained black, blood dried and caked there.

Dean opened his eyes a moment later. He growled as he used his sword to stab into the ground and use the support to stand upright.

"Hey, are you okay?" A brave soul came forward. Woman. Blonde wearing a red pantsuit. She started to walk towards him.

"Get out of the way," Dean growled, pushing her aside. His eyes were swift and searching for any sign of him. "Where is he?! WHERE ARE YOU!"

Dean stabbed the floor again, deep enough that it ought to have cut through the fiber into the next floor as well. He cast a fiery spell that caused the desks, the walls and all other material things around them to blaze. "You want to live?! Get out of my sight."

They didn't need telling twice, at the first sign of magic, they were off, running straight for the elevator and the emergency exit stairs. Just as the floor cleared out, the office furniture and computer tech that Dean had set on fire was starting to create smoke and smog that was thick around him.

"You hiding, Dante? I thought you were through running!" Dean stepped forward, keeping his sword casually loose in his hand. "Don't run from little old me, Dante. It emasculates you when you run from a demon that's half your age."

He began to sing a song. Voice heard just over the sound of crackling fire. "Sweet dreams are made of theeeeese...Who am I to disagreeee? I travel the world...and the seven seaaas...Everybody's lookin' for someone...Some of them to abuse you...Some of them WANT TO BE ABUSED."

Dean turned around and send a blast of fire towards a towering black chair, cursing under his breath.

"Don't run from me, Dante. It makes me feel bad,"

"I'm _not _running," came Dante's voice from behind him. A second later, his arm wrapped around Dean's neck in a chokehold and he extended his wings towards the broken window.

But Dean fought him, wrenching underneath Dante's hold to clip him in the jaw with his curled fist. The Fallen dodged, but not all of it, feeling the pressure hit his chin rather hard, making him stagger.

Dante rubbed the sore spot and glowered, throwing his sword to his right hand and bringing it down on Dean with both hands gripping tight. Dean met his blade evenly, the loud clang sending sparks flying. The pressure seemed even on both ends until Dean kneed him in the groin, causing the Fallen to lurch forward just as Dean caught him by the air and planted another knee in the same jaw he had already hit, nearly shattering it.

Dean had grand satisfaction of watching the Fallen spit out a couple of loosened teeth. He charged Dean again, clashing wildly. Dean met each strike, and each aimed to kill, with precision. It was clear, as it was abundantly clear in Treachery that Dante's skill far surpassed Dean's.

When Dean caught him in another clench, Dante pulled Dean forward by the wrist in one fluid movement, at the same time raising his wing to swipe across Dean's back, cleaving through his jacket and shirt and cutting through flesh easily with a long vertical gash. Dean cried out in pain, grasping his shoulder, but not quite touching the bloody wound through reach.

"Cheap shot," Dean muttered.

"Really," said Dante, flashing him a smug smile from above. He rubbed his jaw almost pointedly, wiping the blood that had formed there.

Dean narrowed his eyes on Dante. He measured the distance between them and the window that was shaking behind Dante. Dante followed his gaze, and Dean took the distraction. Sheathing his sword, Dean yelled as he got up and speared Dante through the stomach, sending the two of them straight for it.

They tumbled out with Dean in a tangle of limbs with Dean gripping Dante's arm tightly as his eyes flashed down. This building had to be at least thirty stories high, with them hovering near the twenty-sixth floor. Dante's wings extended before they could fall far, gripping Dean with his elbow curled under the demon's chin, pinning him with hard pressure to his body to keep him from flying.

"It must be such a handicap as a demon to be unable to extend any sort of wings and fly. All you can jump and you need a flat surface on the ground to be able to do that, don't you?" Dante tightened his hold on Dean and leaned down to press his lips very lightly in Dean's hair.

"Let go," Dean was snarling, struggling to see over Dante's arm.

"Not a good choice of words, Dean," said Dante, and he actually loosened his arm a bit. Dean scrambled and held on tighter. "I can let go and you can fall. You won't survive it. No Will on this earth, no power you possess as Dominion's fragment will save you. You understand this, right?"

"I don't need your mercy,"

"You're restricted by the laws of the land, Dean. That makes you weak. How does it feel to know that it just takes a simple fall to kill you. All that burning and razing of big cities, sitting on a throne and claiming power, and all I have to do...is let you go. And it all ends right here. You'll be bloodsplat,"

Dean growled in response. Dante loosened another inch.

"But I'm offering you a choice. You're all for choices, if you remember," said Dante. "Exile or death. You leave me alone, you walk away from all this and never look back. Or you die here. Your choice."

"Even if you kill me...," Dean was struggling to say it. "Even if you do...My soul will just travel into a circle of Hell...and the moment I get out-"

"Yes, but it sure is an inconvenience to be trapped as such, don't you think? You and I both know that," said Dante with a smile. "And say I'm feeling productive. Say you die and I decide to trap your soul in a single part of Hell. What can you do to stop me? It's a little poetic too, if you think about it. Lucifer, in the stories was chained in the ninth circle of Hell under a lake of ice. How's that for you, Dean? Does it sound like a good vacation spot?"

Dean stopped struggling for just a second, raising his head to meet Dante's dark eyes. He stared for a very long time, seeming to deliberate something. Their eyes stayed on eachother for a long time. From this high up, they could see everything. They were oblivious down below, but they wouldn't be for long. The fire inside the building continued to expand and flame.

And then Dean hocked back and spat right at Dante's face. The Fallen shut his eyes before the saliva made contact. Dean was breathing hard after, harder to hold onto wit the rise and fall of his chest.

Which was only too convenient for Dante. He dropped his arm and released Dean. The demon fell with velocity. His own Fall had felt so slow to Dante while it was happening. He could only imagine Dean was feeling the same thing. The bright green eyes met his, wide and horrorstruck as proceeded to meet his final end.

But a split second later, Dante's spectacular view was shattered as something bright and blue zoomed straight for Dean, intercepted his fall when he was barely twenty feet down from where Dante had dropped him. Dante grit his teeth together, flapped his wings almost indignantly and followed them just as Castiel directed Dean to another building, much taller than the first one. The celestial set the demon down gently.

"All this and still you save him," said Dante as he landed, stepping towards the two of them.

Dean scrambled away from Castiel's embrace fast as the latter continued to kneel. "Keep your damn hands off me."

"You've gone too far, Dean...This is enough," said Castiel as he stood upright.

Dean looked from Dante to Castiel. "Look at this reunion. It's almost like old times. Can you feel it?"

Dante drew out his sword and pointed it at Dean, keeping it level to Dean's throat as he held it low. Without looking away from Dean, he addressed Castiel and began to walk to the side from Dean. "I should have known you'd save him. I should have predicted it. A power-hungry animal exists and wants to destroy the world and you can't find it in you to kill him like the dog he is."

"And what makes _you_ so different, Dante?" Castiel rounded on him. "What makes you better than him? You think your crimes aren't as great? You think you deserve redemption?"

"You think _you_ do, you celestial chewtoy?" Dante countered. "Seriously. You people. It's you madly in love with Dean, and Dean madly in love with power. And neither of you gives a damn who the hell is caught in the crossfire. That...inherently makes the two of you...selfish."

"You're going to die," said Dean venomously, raising his own weapon. "I wouldn't concern myself with him and I for long, Dante. You won't be around for much longer to care."

"Oh come on, Dean. A second ago you were saying you wanted us to become lifelong partners. Don't get prudey now," said Dante sarcastically. "Sad isn't it...When I'm the most morally encompassed one out of all of us."

"YOU'RE DEAD!" Dean shouted and he charged him, but before he could even get close, Castiel slid between them, his hands out, blocking the way to Dante completely.

"I can't let you, Dean. This isn't you. I know you. I know you well. I don't have to be another fragment. This. Isn't. You," Castiel enunciated slowly. "You don't want to do this."

"I very much want to do this, Castiel," Dean snapped back. "Get out of the way."

"I can't let you. I won't. I won't let you become a monster," said Castiel. "You can't. You'll have to go through me first."

* * *

><p>Balthazar found Crowley after some digging under some deep rubble. He was alive and almost barely conscious. Balthazar slapped him awake when he saw him. "Snap out of it. We have to go. Dante, Dean and Castiel are fighting. There's no time!"<p>

"Gaaaaahhhh my stomach," Crowley rolled over onto his front and used his hands to flatten them on what little flat surface he could find and push himself back to stand. He nearly fell into Balthazar. Half his hair looked like it had been dyed white from the amount of dust and debris that had accumulated on him under there.

Balthazar helped him up and released him, swiping at his coat and clothing to release some of the dust as he turned and extended his wings."There. You ready? More time we waste, then we'll be too late. Come on."

"Wait," said Crowley abruptly, not budging an inch to follow him. "I need to make sure of something."

"Crowley! Aren't you anxious to save him? Dante could be in trouble," said Balthazar incredulously.

"He'll be fine. He's at full power. I may not feel him through our bond, but I feel him outside," said Crowley. "I only need a moment."

"Crowley," Balthazar muttered.

"Just a minute," Crowley muttered, stepping over debris and going deeper into where the church once stood. Piles of wood and various pieces of glass were everywhere he looked. Crowley took care not to touch any pieces before they could cut him.

But he found what he was looking for deep in the ruin. Virgil's body. He wanted to see it for himself. It didn't look much different than himself, he wagered, covering in white dust and debris, cut in different places. The stained glass must have hit him full blast in the face. That kind of pleased Crowley.

Crowley knelt down in front of him and placed his palm on Virgil's neck. No pulse. But he didn't expect one. Angels. Fallen. They didn't have human pulses. Demons did, and everything beat faster and went faster. Who knew why that was.

What was interesting to note was that his wings hadn't burnt on the ground underneath him. Maybe they were all the way down at ground zero...but he couldn't see them. Yet he had to be dead if he got a faceful of stained glass. Even that should have killed an angel. And not to mention...It was through Dean's fireburst that this had happened.

"Look at you, Virgil," Crowley tilted his head, retracting his hand. "You really are...the most pathetic Fallen I've ever had the misfortune to encounter.

He traced a line on Virgil's cheek, a strange, gentle contrast to his words. "I know it was you, Virgil. I know...that you made Dante make me to make a lesson. I also know it was you that Dominion sent. And you that Dominion abandoned in the end. Your desire for revenge...and justice was not...totally hard to understand."

"But what was it that you called me...You called me...," A faint smile flickered on Crowley's face. "Just before I died. You remember, don't you? Petty. Useless. Greedy...Pathetic. Yeah...you remember."

Crowley pulled a stray lock of hair on Virgil's cheek and tucked it behind his ear and began to rise.

A split second passed before Virgil's eyes snapped open and he lunged forward in a sharp blur of motion. There was a sliding click as his blade extended from his left wrist and he plunged the blade deep into Crowley's chest. All the way forward so that the blood blossomed on the other side, all over his back.

Crowley stared at him in shock, mouth hanging open as he struggled to collect air into his lungs where Virgil had pierced.

"You forgot _weak," _Virgil whispered to him at such close proximity. He pressed his own cheek against Crowley's and extended his tongue to lick a strip all the way up to his temple.

"CROWLEY!" Balthazar shouted from behind him. But he was far. Too far. He barely got six feet before something rose from the ground and wrapped around his knees, locking him in place. He glanced down and saw black vines conjured through Virgil's Will tightening around his legs, stopping him from moving any closer.

Virgil pulled his blade back and allowed it to slide back into his sleeve, standing up in the next second just as Crowley's body fell forward, a pure white glowing substance beginning to rise from the body that Virgil reached out and caught a handful of. He eyed it for a moment.

"Ah, a soul. No transitioning into the next realm for you, McLeod," said Virgil. He took the soul with both hands, brought it close as though clasping his hands together, then he took grip of it hard and pulled from both ends until the soul split in half, until the glow from the soul began to twinkle and fade from his grip.

"NO! Virgil! Virgil...What...What did you do?" Balthazar gasped, barely able to get the words out.

"You can tell Dante from me...that pain is what makes him what he is. He'll never be free from 'll never stop. That goes for all of them. The cycle...will always continue. And he...will always lose. Tell him that for me, will you? He'll know what it means," said Virgil, turning away and extending his wings. He shot off towards the sky in a swirl of black wings, leaving only a cloud of dust behind him.

The second he was out of sight, the bindings holding Balthazar unclasped and he was free. He ran straight for Crowley. Though he knew what to expect...his heart burned with regret and overwhelming...despair.

* * *

><p><em>Clang.<em>

Dante's sword slipped from his grip, falling to the ground with a loud sound. He fell to his knees, his finger clutching a handful of his shirt in front of his heart. "Crowley."

Castiel looked behind him and barely got a glance at Dante's state before Dean brushed his hand aside and Castiel was thrown hard on his back, twenty feet away, nearly falling off the edge.

Dean knelt down in front of him. Dante's eyes were full blown and wide, like he was completely unaware of where he was or what he was doing anymore. Dean touched his cheek.

"It hurts, doesn't it...? This pain...so overwhelming to know that you lost him," said Dean, stroking his cheek. "That you'll never see him again...because you failed to protect him. I took a leaf out of your book, Dante. The curse to extract the fragments...It required you in a weakened state, to say the least. I was going to do it the moment I found you...but of course...Fate intervened in the form of dear old Dad and I didn't get that chance. But I think this moment...Right here. Right now...will suffice just fine."

Dante was barely responding. He blinked a few times, struggled to put a grip on the overwhelming emotion that threatened to break him from the inside out, and Dean curled his fingers to his lips and pressed a kiss to his knuckles, preparing.

"_Dominae_-"

"DEAN NO!" Castiel cried out, back on his feet. "Stop! Don't!"

Dean looked right at him, caught his eyes and Castiel felt something strange, like a burn in the back of his head. A vision appeared in front of him.

_A tree house. Dean was there, much younger. A child no older than five. Before him knelt the Archangel Gabriel himself._

_"Wanna know a magic trick?" Gabriel said in a voice that echoed._

_"Yeah! Show me! Show me!" said Dean excitedly, clapping his hands together._

_"Look," said Gabriel, holding up one finger. "Hold up yours. Come on."_

_Dean did as he was told, level to Gabriel._

_"The closest distance between two points...," Gabriel said slowly, just as a very thin, string like line glowing green connecting their finger tips. "is the line between you and me."_

_"Ooh...Magic! Magic!" Dean barely held himself from jumping up and down._

_"That way you know I'm always close to you," said Gabriel._

_Dean's eyes softened and warmed in the same second and he dropped his hand to throw his arms around Gabriel's neck tight. "I love you, Uncle Gabriel."_

_"I love you, Dean."_

And then Dean reappeared in present, one finger held up towards Castiel. His voice was low as he spoke. "The closest distance between two points, is the line between you and me, Angel."

"Dean-"

"And when the line breaks, there's a word for that too," said Dean. He twisted his hand around so his fingers was facing him, raising another and his thumb and snapping once.

"_Shatterpoint,"_

The moment the word left Dean's mouth, Castiel buckled in agony. The brief sting from the memory was nothing compared to this. He had only felt this once before: when Dante and he were in Hell on their way to Treachery with the latter using a spell to suppress one of the fragments inside of him, compassion. He grasped handfuls of his hair, struggling to keep standing before he fell to his knees and felt the fire from Dean attack every cell inside his body.

He breathed hard, trying to see through it, but he couldn't. He couldn't see anything but Dean's laughing face through a haze of black like he had entered a cavern of spiders.

And then it was over. He fell over, immobile as a doll.

"I'm sorry, angel...but I release you from your debt," said Dean casually, standing up and looking over at him with not a single trace of regret. "I no longer require your services."

"And Dante...Where were we?...Oh yes...Let's get this over with, shall we?" Dean knelt down once more. "I'm sure you're just as tired as me that this is still going on, aren't you?"

Dante just looked at him. "Hey Dean...Go to Hell."

"No, I'm on vacation," Dean replied, giving him a dazzling smile before he raised his hand between them again.

"Do-"

Dean broke off when something grabbed him from behind, pulled him to his feet. He felt the cold steel of metal bracers as they were pressed against his chest, pinning his arms to his side.

Michael's voice was sharp in his ear. "Enough. You've done enough."

"Let me go, you son of a bitch," Dean growled back.

"Not now," said Michael.

But Dean broke from the hold and staggered away, brandishing his sword. "You stay the hell away from me, Michael. You have no right to be here."

"I have every right to be here," said Michael, stepping closer. "You're still my son."

Dean laughed. "You keep on thinking that. I've done things you can't even imagine...And it wasn't because I was your son...it was because I was born into this. And now...I'm going to make it right."

"Don't try to reason with him, Michael. He's completely insane," said Dante in a hollow voice.

"You're doing it all wrong," said Michael. "Please, Dean...Remember yourself. Hold onto what little humanity you have left. For the love of God."

"For the love of God. Why the fuck would I do that?" Dean sneered.

"Dean-"

But before Michael could finish, something black struck Dean hard in the back of his head. His eyes rolled to the back of his head and he fell forward, unconscious.

Michael openly gawked. "Did you seriously bring a frying pan here?"

"Yes," Carmen replied, stepping over Dean and standing proud. She wore exactly the same long black romper and cape she had on as Queen...not a trace of the old wound that Metatron had done to her. "My soul's been trapped inside your body since Los Angeles, Michael...I don't exactly have full access to my goddamn arsenal."

"Carmen...," Dante stared from one to the other. "You're dead."

"Not...really," said Carmen passively, turning her gaze on Castiel. "Is he?"

"It's a shatterpoint spell...He's not exactly...," Dante trailed off.

Carmen approached him and pressed a hand to his neck. "Castiel...Castiel, can you hear me?"

To her surprise, he opened his eyes and peered at her. "You're alive."

"Pretty eyes," Castiel murmured in a small voice. "Pretty. Pretty. Pretty."

"What..?" Carmen asked, taking his elbow and helping him sit up. He frowned like he had just woken up from sleep. "What's wrong with him? What happened?"

"Shatterpoint spells are meant to break the mind," Michael explained quietly. "He's probably not..."

"All there," said Dante with a empty smile.

"Pretty," Castiel said again, reaching for Carmen.

"Goddammit, Dean," Carmen said under her breath, throwing a venomous glance in his direction. "What the hell happened to him?"

"I don't know...but we need to get out of here," said Michael.

"No," said Dante, his voice sharp and abrupt. "Do what you want. I don't care. I need to see him. One last time.."

"See wh-" Carmen began, but Dante had already pulled his wings out and took off into the night sky. Carmen sighed and looked at Michael. "Going after him? I saw a Fallen on the way here...going in the northwest direction. Should we get that?"

"No, we got who matters," said Michael, eyes on Dean's sleeping form. "He won't be asleep long. His body takes less time to recharge than humans. We need to get him somewhere secure."

"And Dante?"

"Let him be alone for now...He needs it," said Michael quietly. "We'll come back for him."


	15. Loss of Me

It was the slowest flight Dante had ever taken. For one so used to flight. So used to partaking in it. Regardless of his injury. An angel or Fallen's flight came naturally. And yet perhaps it was the dread that made his flight slow. He didn't want to face what he would inevitably see.

He landed in the middle of the rubble to find Balthazar kneeling and his back kept to him as if hiding what Dante didn't want to see from view. When Dante was close enough, the angel looked up and met his gaze. He moved away from Crowley's body and stood up.

"I'm sorry, Dante," said Balthazar quietly.

Dante didn't answer him. He took Balthazar's place and stayed by Crowley's side. As close as Dante was to him, the demon could have just been resting. He pulled him from the ground and cradled him close, running his fingers lightly down the demon's face.

"I can only imagine the pain you're going through right now," Balthazar continued while Dante remained silent. "I'm so sorry...It was Virgil. He...Crowley must have thought he was dead. He was feinting. I'm sorry. He got away."

"Virgil," said Dante slowly. "I see."

Balthazar shook his head and covered his mouth with his palm. "You're looking better." When Dante looked at him square in the eyes, he rushed to continue. "I meant physically. You look a lot better than how you did when I last saw you. How did that happen? I thought your wound wouldn't heal."

"I called in a favor," said Dante vaguely, looking back down at Crowley.

Balthazar followed his gaze and sighed. "Dante..Why did you come here? Why did you run...? If you had stayed in the manor with me...maybe..."

"Maybe what, you would have saved him?" Dante scoffed. "What obligation would you have to do that. You don't care, Balthazar. You never have...He did, though. He's the only one in the world who did...and now he's dead."

"That's not true, Dante. I still...," Balthazar sucked in a harsh breath and spoke in a voice barely above a whisper. "I still care for you."

Dante placed his arms under Crowley's body and lifted the demon up under the legs and supporting his back. The way Dante was holding him, he looked as light as a feather. Crowley's head leaned on Dante's chest that way, and he continued to look like a demon sleeping.

"Despite what you've done...I still believe in you, Dante," said Balthazar. "I don't exactly relish the thought of you in pain, trust me. I know how much Crowley meant to you. But I still believe that when the time comes, you'll have it in you to make the right choice. You don't have to be what they expect of you, Dante. You can be a hero too."

"There is literally _nothing_ gained from playing hero," Dante replied coldly.

Balthazar sighed. "You never answered my question. Why did you come here? Of all places, why here? The enemy found you. And knowing you, bet they nearly killed you."

"No. Actually...Despite this," Dante lifted Crowley a few inches. "This is actually a win for your side."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because we're here," Balthazar jumped at the sound of that voice. For a moment, the thought Metatron had found them. But when he turned around, he found a bigger shock when he saw Carmen Matthews, the former Queen of Hell and Dean's demon there. She was supposed to be dead. Metatron killing her was the cause or at least the partial cause of Dean's complete descent into darkness.

To see her there, almost completely unharmed and looking exactly the way Balthazar had last seen her all the way in Treachery made Balthazar think he was dreaming. Which would be a considerable feat, considering he didn't sleep.

"Carmen?" Balthazar walked over to her and placed his arms around her. The heat didn't bother him as they embraced. She was still shorter than him, still a girl who looked no older than nineteen. He pulled away, running his eyes over her." How... I thought you had...Dante said you..."

"Michael," said Dante. "Michael, the miracle worker."

"Michael got out?" Balthazar asked. "Well, that's actually good news. Castiel, Crowley and I had been saying we needed his help."

Carmen eyed Dante over Balthazar's shoulder for a long moment, but she continued to speak to Balthazar. "There's a lot going on, Balthazar. I can explain better if we leave."

"Where are we going?" Balthazar asked. "The manor? It's not that far from-"

"No...Not the manor," Carmen interrupted. "Michael's set something up at the Crosswood High School. It's not that far from here."

"At the high school. Really, that's not very nice to the kiddies," Dante commented.

"Kiddies are on winter vacation,"said Carmen. "It's the perfect place. Michael's already marked it so the celestials can't find it."

"Take me there," said Balthazar, raising his head. "We need to regroup."

"You need to catch up," Carmen amended. She began to turn around and crouched low, preparing herself for a Jump. She saw that Dante was hardly moving. "Are you coming?"

"I'll catch up," said Dante shortly. "I know where Crosswood is."

"You know this area well," said Balthazar.

"I did," said Dante. He turned his back on them. "I need some time alone."

"Dante...Are you-"

"Please just go with her," said Dante, extending his wings and taking off in the opposite direction.

"I have to go with him," said Balthazar to her.

"Hm. Usually when men start saying they want to be alone, I leave them to it," said Carmen, looking at her nails. "So what happened here?"

"Crowley," said Balthazar. "He didn't make it."

"Crowley. Right. Dante made him. Must be nice, having a maker who cared for you," said Carmen slowly.

Balthazar looked at her then. "Dean cares for you. He just wasn't..."

"I don't...I don't hold anything against Dean...but part of me wishes I stayed dead," said Carmen, turning away and rubbing her temple. "I'll be at the school. You two come when you're ready...Castiel is...You're going to want to see for yourself. I'll try to keep things handled on my side."

"Castiel?" Balthazar questioned. "Wait. Carmen. What happened with Castiel?"

But Carmen had already completely turned around, crouched low and took the Jump for herself, disappearing into the night before Balthazar could get an answer.

* * *

><p>Dante flew over the town, flew over the nearby city where there was all sorts of sirens now. They had seen their display...or at least known something had happened. There was no subtlety to the truth these days, and yet Dante found himself hoping that none of them suspected the truth. Humans were better off keeping away. Keeping far away. Especially now that every weapon held by any law enforcement agent had the poisonous stigma inside of them.<p>

Oh, what did Dante care? Humans were inherently selfish, ignorant beings and Dante could hardly believe that he had found himself allying with people who actually wanted to defend them.

Now that Crowley was taken, he could feel his demon's loss heavy in his heart. Upon hearing it was Virgil who had done it, Dante felt no cry for vengeance in his mind, no desire to chase after him, hunt him down and kill him. Even though now he was completely capable. The realization that his one and only creation, the only one that really mattered to him...was gone...was actually painful. It prickled around his chest like a steady reminder.

He stopped above a mountain overlooking a huge temple. This was why this area was called Paradise Rock, after all: this mountain. Below him was a ruined structure that looked like it might have been a temple or a holy place at some point.

It felt almost wrong to desecrate the place by using it as a funeral pyre. But was a suitable resting place. As Dante touched down on the surface, he could feel the faint signature of something dark within this temple. It must have had a demon infestation before it was purged by unknown means into the state it was in now.

Crowley was gone now. As Dante set him down to rest on his back, the demon's face turned away from him. He could still see the wound that was fresh moments ago now dried as if his body was already being subject to decomposition. Demon bodies usually reduced to ash when killed. The body and the soul went to some circle of Hell. Dean was an exception long ago, because of his state as Dominion's fragment. His body had remained here and eventually faded to rejoin the form in Treachery.

This only meant that Virgil had manually ripped the soul out of the body and destroyed it. The body here was empty...just a doll for all intents and purposes.

The demon was never a good being. He had forsaken God in his human life and as a demon he had tortured, maimed and killed and enjoyed it. Try as Dante might've to instill some measure of balance in Crowley's obvious appetite, there was little Dante did that changed Crowley. He was himself. A master of deception and trickery, skills he carried well into his grave.

But there was always that unspoken love and loyalty he held for Dante. Even after Dante was banished into Treachery, Crowley never let go. He never stopped believing that Dante would come back and he never stopped holding unto him even though many times he had the opportunity to leave.

To turn him into a mindless shadowcrawler as he did Father Bobby, as he did countless others seemed more of an insult than anything useful. Instead Dante waved his hand over the body and allowed a blanket of darkness to cover Crowley completely from his sight. The demon began to vanish underneath the veil of darkness, slowly fading away until he became nothing more than a dark print on the rubble that Dante had placed him on.

As Dante rose, he paused and looked up at the sky, feeling the breeze touch his face with a strange sense of freedom. "Thought I told you to stay with her."

"I don't take orders from you, if you recall," said Balthazar, settling silently behind Dante, crossing his arms.

Dante sighed. "Why are you here, Balthazar? I'm sure whatever Michael and Carmen have to say is much more important than being here with me."

Balthazar unfolded his arms and approached Dante until he was less than three feet from him. "I thought you might need someone."

"I don't need anyone," said Dante pointedly.

"I thought you might need a friend," Balthazar corrected himself. "I know you're hurting right now, Dante. And there's really...no way I can ever...sympathize with you. But I think you can get through this. And I'm here for you."

Dante scoffed. "Why?"

"Why, what? Why am I here for you? Really?"

"It's a simple question, Balthazar. You have no reason. You're either here because you're betting on a winning horse, or you're here because you think staying on my good side keeps you safe from harm from me," said Dante.

"How dare you," Balthazar hissed in a low voice. "I was with you when you were at your weakest. If I was betting on a winning horse, then you were hardly be a qualifying candidate for 'the winning side'. And your second reason? What, you think I'm afraid of you?"

"I'm Shadowalker, Balthazar," said Dante coldly.

"That's the name _you_ gave yourself. You're still Dante to me," said Balthazar.

"You're a stubborn fool," said Dante, turning back to Crowley's remains.

Dante took a few steps back then, staring at the space where Crowley once occupied, then he extended his wings and took off, becoming nothing more than a black dot, blending easily among the stars. Balthazar followed his gaze too, looking where Crowley rested then at the temple as a whole.

He extended his own wings as soon as Dante left him, preparing for his own flight, but something stopped him. He had never been to this area before. His experience of Paradise Rock was restricted to a roadside and Rose Manor itself. But this place just rang false to him.

And it was strange that he even detected Castiel here and some traces of Dean as well. They had both been inside these ruins before. He started to step forward. Maybe he shouldn't have delayed too much. Dante would wait for so long before he turned around and came back for him.

But something compelled him to keep going forward, to not stop. He had a distinct feeling that something needed to be resolved here before he could leave. As Balthazar found himself under the cover of a partial ceiling he eyed the structure as a whole. This could have been a grand temple when it was first built and it probably was one.

The feeling Balthazar initially had only increased until finally, he found himself staring face to face with a glowing white orb that manifested in front of him. It circled him a few times as if trying to discern his power signature. He recognized what this was. This was a Grace fragment. Someone was tracking him. Balthazar felt his heartbeat increase by ten.

Yet it was only a matter of time. So maybe he shouldn't have been too surprised.

"Show yourself," said Balthazar.

As requested, the glowing white orb took shape. Balthazar legs first, thin yet strong and then a fully armored waist, arms, and shoulders, then finally the head. Metatron stood right in front of him in full armor with her sword pulled out, loose in her right hand. Her bright orange eyes focused on Balthazar like a cat locking on to its prey.

"General," said Balthazar with a slight incline of his head.

"Don't be silly, Balthazar. You hold me in no respect," said Metatron passively. "You don't need to address me that way."

"On the contrary, you have my highest respect, Metatron. I was hoping it would be you to lead the legion in the aftermath," said Balthazar. "But I gather you're not very pleased with me."

"I was wondering what happened to Zachariah...Wondering more so when I detected his signature coming from this insignificant mountain. I hadn't heard from him some time...I had a theory that he may have betrayed us in coming here...but I suppose it makes sense that I find you instead," Metatron told him. "So you are using his Grace because your own has been destroyed. I had wondered if you perished in Chicago."

"Not quite," said Balthazar.

"Regardless. It's fortuitous that I found you, Balthazar. Then perhaps you can help me," said Metatron.

"You want my help?" Balthazar asked, surprised. "What could you possibly want from me? I am betraying your legion, aren't I?"

"Oh, very much, but you have Heaven's Grace upon you whether it's yours or not. I have a feeling even if it was your own Grace, you would not be in a Fallen state," said Metatron. "And I'm not surprised to find you here, Balthazar. You were always close to Dante. Regardless of how foul he is, you'll side with him."

"Foul," said Balthazar. "You know, General. It was your exile of him that caused him to be in this state. If you had only listened to him, perhaps-"

"Do you believe in fate, Balthazar?" Metatron interjected.

"In what? Fate?"

"Yes. Fate. Do you believe in destiny?" Metatron prompted him.

"Uh...I suppose," said Balthazar awkwardly. "What does that have anything to do with this? Are you saying it was Dante's destiny to be exiled by you?"

"In a manner of speaking, yes. It's done now, and he wouldn't have done those deeds he was meant to do if we hadn't exiled him," said Metatron.

"A city _burned_. Countless lives were lost. Castiel _fell._ Dominion broke. I can go on. This was all done. If you hadn't done it, these would be peace times. Instead, you're at war," said Balthazar coldly

"The only being I'm at war with now is Dominion, Balthazar. Dean Winchester has no threat to me. He's just another mistake from Dominion. We can go on and on and about if this didn't happen or if that didn't happen. It happened. It's done. There is no changing it. To speak that it might be better off if certain things hadn't happened is speculative and useless," said Metatron. "Blame me if you must. I'm sure it provides you better comfort to blame me rather than Dante, Dean and Castiel."

Balthazar snarled under his breath. "Enough. What do you want from me, Metatron?"

"Prayer. Prayer is a powerful substance, Balthazar. It has the power to overcome barriers of all types...and ironically everyone has the capability to use it. Why, even Dante Shadowalker managed to pray upon Michael and restore himself. An angel heeding a prayer is everything," said Metatron quietly.

"What are you getting at?" Balthazar raised an eyebrow, frowning at her.

"I want what I've always wanted. The end of the war. We make do with the future we are given. If these fragments continue to exist, Dominion will rise again and he will destroy every realm there is and there will be no power that can stop him. Break him, and he will reform...It's an endless cycle," Metatron explained. "What I would want from you is prayer. I want you...to call upon me. I want you to call upon me when the three of them: Dante, Dean and Castiel are gathered in one single place. When that happens, no matter what your bestie Michael does, nothing can stop me from taking care of the situation."

"And when you say 'taking care of the situation', what does that mean?" Balthazar asked crossly.

"It means the end of the war," said Metatron. "That's all you need to know. The end of the problems this planet has suffered for too long. I think that's a fair compromise."

"Knowing you, Metatron and you're apparent dislike for the three people...this means their deaths. Why would I help you kill them when I'm allied with them?"

"Just take that it into consideration, Balthazar. What do you want more? The company of friends or a place without so much catastrophic destruction. Michael's blindsided by sentiment. At least you and I know better. Ask yourself how much Dante, Dean or Castiel actually mean to you and if it's actually worth the trouble. None of them deserve a shred of your mercy," said Metatron and she turned away from him.

"General-"

"Think about what I've said," Metatron extended her wings, flapped them once with a show of white sparks and took off at lightning speed, leaving Balthazar watching after her.

* * *

><p>When Dante stopped at the school, he took in the size of the damn thing. This was surely too big to hold a very small population of students, wasn't it? But this must have been three school buildings rolled into one. There was a large football field, a basketball court, a large student parking lot, and a tennis court on the outside. All of it empty. Carmen was right. It was vacation. No student or staff was around.<p>

Balthazar hadn't come yet...and he wondered what he would think of this place.

To the blind eye, this was an empty area. They'd pass it by without a second glance, even though it was a great part of the residential circle it was part of. Dante knew better however. He could see what they could not. There were several glowing blue sigils on the outside that prevented Celestial entry. Michael must have already been inside. These kind of wards prevented someone who wasn't invited from coming inside.

And judging by Carmen's obvious invitation, he wasn't an exception.

He walked past the wards, feeling no sting or anything to suggest that he wasn't welcome. And he entered the high school.

As he stepped into a dark hallway, a part of Dante wondered why. Why was he doing this? Why was he still here? What was the point anymore? Crowley was dead. Virgil was still at large. Heaven was probably going to come after them now for sure now that Michael had escaped and helped Carmen dodge her bullet. His mind struggled with the point in being here anymore. Was there ever going to be a point where nothing was happening?

He found the 'team' gathered inside the cafeteria, following his sixth sense and finding that influx of power coming from there. Michael predominantly. There they were. Carmen, Michael,..and Castiel. The other two were sitting at a table in the middle of the room facing each other and Castiel was beside himself on the floor, looking rather...lost, for lack of a better word.

The cafeteria was dull. The school mascot was a falcon, and the color was blue and white, so there was an obviously-student drawn wall to his right of a blue falcon soaring in the sky. Other than that, it was dull and almost colorless except for the different color seats that were chipped in several places.

"Am I late?" Dante asked, pulling a chair from a nearby table and placing it at the end of the table. "Balthazar still hasn't come?"

"Not yet," said Carmen. "Thought he was with you."

"He hasn't come yet...," said Dante thoughtfully. "Interesting. Fine. Whatever. Where's Dean?"

"BEAN!" Castiel suddenly yelled enthusiastically. "I love Bean."

Dante looked over at the sound. The celestial was almost completely oblivious to any type of distraction, content to sit with his legs spread out. It was a strange image, to find a celestial that looked like a grown man sit like a child. But that's probably how he functioned now. With limited capacity, he _was_ a child. Dean sure did a number on him.

"He's in the gymnasium, unconscious," said Michael in a low voice. He was facing Dante's direction, not really seated but having only one boot on the flat surface, leaning forward. "It's the only place big enough to cast a containment spell like the one I needed to hold him."

"So what's the plan. We're going to kill him?" Dante questioned.

"No," said Michael firmly, rolling his eyes at him. "Maybe that's what _you'd_ do...but it's not what we'd do."

"Of course it's what_ I'd_ do. He tried to kill me," said Dante.

"I'm pretty sure he had good reason for that," said Carmen. "You are _kind of_ an asshole."

"Takes one to know one," Dante countered. But he looked at Michael. "You kept her alive, Michael. That's a high crime in Heaven. No offense, sweetbottoms. I still think you're attractive for dead."

"She's the Queen of Hell. The rightful ruler. Not Dean," said Michael. "Besides, she didn't deserve to die the way she did."

Dante laughed. "Oh my God, Michael. You have not changed. Didn't deserve to die? So did half the planet's already deceased. Did you care to stop any of those deaths?"

Michael glared daggers at him. "I see you're still holding a grudge. I did you a favor when you needed-"

"Healing me of the affliction that _your_ son put inside me is _not_ a favor," said Dante scathingly. "And if you consider it one, then consider that I don't accept it as even a fraction of what you actually owe me."

"All right, enough," said Carmen, standing up and looking right at Dante. "I know you don't trust him. I can hardly say I do as well.." Carmen frowned at Michael when the latter gave her a dark look. "You aren't exactly a token Samaritan, Michael. But we're working together now. We all have a common goal."

"Your goal is to save Dean Winchester from himself. That's not exactly in my best interests," said Dante, chuckling.

"Better than him trying to kill you every step of the way and inflicting dire injury every time," said Carmen. "Pretty sure you're first on his hit list, Shadowalker."

Dante gave her a fake, plastered smile. "Who's to say that stops just because he gets his humanity mojo back inside him?" He turned to Michael. "And who's to say you'll succeed in actually doing _that?"_

"I don't expect you to understand what we plan to do. Dean is my son. I'll never give up on him," said Michael with finality.

"My demon _died_ today, Michael. And it was in the actions of your son. Why, if I really wanted to point fingers, I could blame him, _not_ Virgil. I could march into the gym myself and end this goddamn war once and for all. And not a goddamn fucking thing any one of you could do would stop me," Dante snarled menacingly.

"But you're not doing that," said Michael, not fazed. "So sit down, Dante. If you're not going to contribute, then consider yourself ammunition and Sit. Down."

But Dante didn't move an inch. "I don't recognize the authority of this council."

"Dante," Carmen warned.

"Let me something in perspective for you. Dean Winchester does not care for any of you. He does not care for the Father that abandoned him. Not for the demon that_ he_ abandoned. Not for the angel that he supposedly loved. Nor for Balthazar. And he certainly does not care for me. If he were ever to gain freedom from whatever containment you have on him-"

"Which he will not," said Michael sharply.

"...He would kill all of you," Dante continued as if there had been no interruption. "Without care, without mercy and without a thought. Look at what he did to Castiel. The point is...that if none of you have the _heart_ to kill him, as you should...then contain him better than you already have. Cover the ninth circle in ice and chain him to the bottom. I guarantee you, that will solve _all_ of your problems."

"No," said Michael, and he actually glanced at the rest of them as if expecting someone to contest his answer. "We're not going to do that. We won't. He deserves a second chance."

"You fucking condemned me to be a Fallen. _I_ deserved a second chance," Dante snarled. "But you never bothered with that, did you?"

"I will not listen to your laments from the past, Dante," said Michael. "What's done is done. You can hold a grudge against me for the rest of your existence. The point is, that I'm trying to help you now. You want to stay safe, then you have to accept me as your ally."

"Oh, God," said Dante, placing his hand over his face and pinching the bridge of his nose. He took a long moment and honestly wondered what Crowley would say to this situation.

_"Why is Carmen here? I hate her. You know she burnt my face?"_

Sounded like him.

"What's wrong?" Carmen asked.

"Nothing. I just see that my only way out of this situation is to actually agree with Michael," said Dante, closing his eyes tightly for a moment. "This is probably the saddest day of my life."

"I wouldn't call it the saddest day," said Carmen, leaning back in her chair and interlocking her fingers behind her head. "At least you still have your reproductive organs."

Everyone but Castiel turned to stare at her. She shrugged her shoulders. "What? That's important. Jesus."

Fortunately that was the time that Balthazar chose to walk in. "I'm here."

"Balthazar!" Castiel shouted when he spotted him.

"Castiel," Balthazar made a beeline for him and knelt down in front of him. The latter placed his hand flat on Balthazar's knee and leaned on it as if using him as a cushion to sleep. Balthazar gently pulled him back and got a look at his face, looking in to his eye. "What happened."

"Dean happened," said Carmen, crossing her arms.

"Dean did this?" Balthazar asked incredulously. "No...He wouldn't."

No one answered him. Balthazar was left staring in Castiel's eyes which looked so comparatively empty to what he was used to. It was like Castiel was seeing him and not at the same time, not really looking. There was a strange look of peace and bliss on his face that was so unlike him. Balthazar was used to the frown that creased his brow. He had never once witnessed Castiel's happiness...except in youth. If he showed Dean he was happy, then the demon was the only one to see it.

This was false happiness. It wasn't real. It made Balthazar's skin crawl. And he placed his hand at the angel's temple.

"Don't...try anything," said Michael in a warning tone. "You'll make it worse. His mind is shattered and unchained. Any attempt you make to heal it will only worsen it."

"Have you tried that already, Michael?" Balthazar asked shrewdly.

"No...But it's a spell that Dean himself invented, it's newer in the tomes. It's called Shatterpoint. Its like a locator spell that finds a weak spot in an obstruction and shatters the whole foundation with a snap. I don't know how it works, nor do I know if it's irreversible," said Michael. "In this case, Dean exposed Castiel's mind through the the bond they shared as Castiel being his Guardian. He shattered the bond, and he shattered the mind."

"No one's a saint," said Dante, drawing out a cigarette from his pack inside his jacket and lighting the end.

Metatron's words echoed off Dante's. _None of them deserve a shred of your mercy._

"So what, there's no cure? He's stuck like this?" Balthazar asked, trying to shake off all thoughts of Metatron.

"Theoretically, we can assume that Dean knows how to fix it," said Carmen. "If he invented the spell, then he knows how to undo it."

"I know how to fix it," said Dante, placing his cigarette between his teeth as everyone looked over at him. He reached further into his pocket and drew out a clear vial with black liquid inside filled to the brim with a corked top. If the vial contained something like Celestial Grace, there would be a faint glow. But this was something else. Black fumes rose past the spaces between the cork...This was..

"That's demon blood," said Michael.

"Correct. When I first met Castiel, he was in a similarly simpering mood as he is now. His mind was all torn up over the loss of Dean, and it continued to break as time wore on and hope was lost. This is what I gave him...or well Crowley gave him in the first circle. It corrupts your Grace. And I do think Castiel is better off with a fighting chance," said Dante.

"Absolutely not. That is out of the question," said Michael instantly. "We're not giving him Demon blood. The curse placed on him was on the mind, you turn his Grace black then he'll be rabid and wild."

"At least he'll attack Dean if he attacks him," said Dante. "Win. Win."

"No," said Michael. "I'm not saying it again. We're not doing that to Castiel."

"Since when do you care for what happens to Castiel?" Balthazar interjected. "Dante, you were able to suppress Compassion once before. Is it possible to-"

"Is that what you want me to do?" Dante asked, looking around at them all. "I can do that too. He won't exactly like any of you, though."

"No! There will be no side tricks or Fallen mind games," Michael growled. "That's not how this works."

"Fine," Dante countered. "If you insist on your solution, then I'd suggest you make your way to the gym, Michael."

"Michael, is there anything you can do for Dean?" Balthazar asked. "Gabriel was able to change him...to...well...what we're all familiar with. The demon with at least some measure of humanity. Is it possible for you to do the same? To restore his humanity at least a little bit?"

"..Gabriel had a base to go off. Dean loved him," said Dante, looking around at them all. "He doesn't love any of you. And the one he does can't do it."

"Obviously doesn't love Castiel if he was willing to do this to him," said Carmen.

"People do crazy things for power, love. Always remember that. Even hurt the ones they care about the most," said Dante.

"Can we talk to him?" Balthazar suggested. "Doesn't hurt to try, does it?"

"There's no point. He hates you," said Dante shortly.

"We've been keeping him sedated. He requires regular shots of this," Michael drew a thick clear cylinder from his pocket that was glowing blue. It might have been a normal substance before but Michael obviously added some of his power to make a different substance. "To keep him down."

"You're drugging him? Well, Michael. You just won 'Dad of the Year'," said Dante sarcastically. "If you have to drug someone to keep them down, you may as well take a pistol and put a bullet in their head. Or in this case, just behead him. He's even trouble when he's awake, are you serious?"

"You're saying that because you know he'll try to kill you," said Michael.

"He'll _try _and he'll_ die._ And you people will be so angry at me," Dante replied. "Because I defended myself. Survival. You kill what tries to kill you and prove yourself dominant."_  
><em>

"Or prove, in your case, you're Dominion," Carmen pointed out.

"Since when do you care what others think of you?" Balthazar asked, looking slightly surprised.

"I don't care what other people think of me," said Dante irritably. "I'm just saying. You're all spurned by Dean. There's no way he'll help you unless you give him something in return...and even then, he'll probably still do it. You can't save him, so just give it up."

"He's right," said Balthazar. "We've all lost something...and maybe it's Dean's fault...maybe it's not. But we have. There's no one among us who hasn't."

"Sam Winchester," said Carmen after a long moment.

They all looked at her. Michael's face drained of color. "No. Absolutely not."

"You want to help him," said Carmen.

"We're not doing that," said Michael. "We'll find another way."

"There is no other way. Sam is his brother. Dean loves him. He spared Sam all of this, didn't he?" Carmen pressed. She looked at Dante and Balthazar. "Where is Sam anyway?"

"Someplace safe," said Balthazar defensively. "I agree with Michael-"

"Gross," Dante put in.

"..We shouldn't involve Sam," Balthazar continued sternly. "He was kept out of this deliberately. I placed a glamor spell on his house and his area. He's completely unaware of all this and I want to keep it this way."

"A glamor spell can be broken easily," said Carmen. "Look..I don't relish the idea of getting him involved either. But if you want to save Dean, then maybe that's our only option. Bring in the one guy that Dean actually hasn't hurt yet."

"Bring him here so he can hurt him," said Michael.

"We're here, aren't we? We can defend ourselves, last I checked," said Carmen sarcastically.

"You're soft on Sam and you just want to see him again," said Dante dully. "This is just a setup so you can do so."

Carmen threw him a venomous look. "I'm saying we're running out of options. If you got a better idea, then why don't you throw some my way, Q-Ball?"

"I have a much better idea, you're all just against it," said Dante coolly.

"Enough," said Michael sharply. "She may be right. Maybe Sam can get through to him in a way we can't. It's worth the short. If anything happens. We'll just protect him like we always have."

"Like you did Castiel," said Dante, taking a deep drag out of his cigarette and blowing out smoke in a sharp exhale.

Michael scowled at him. "I'll take Carmen with me. I'm the fastest...I'd take Castiel but...I don't think anyone can convince Sam better than Carmen and his old Fath-...me.. That leaves you in charge, Balthazar, Dante. Keep Castiel safe. And make sure you regularly inject Dean in the neck with this. Keep him down until we get back."

"Look how the roles have reversed, Michael. You're really trusting me that much?" Dante asked.

"I don't trust you at all, Dante," Michael assured him. "You're a slithering snake and I expect no less than that from a Fallen. But there are worse things out there. The entire legion is looking for all of us...and there's another Fallen with a grudge against you. I don't trust you, Shadowalker. But I trust your survival instinct. It may keep you all alive a little bit longer."


End file.
